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THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

SANTA  BARBARA 

PRESENTED   BY 


HILTON   P.    G05S 


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OLD  ENGLAND 


ITS  SCENERY,  ART,  AND  PEOPLE 


BY 


JAMES    M.  HOPPIN 

PROFESSOR   OF   THE    HISTORY   OF   ART    IN   YALE   UNIVERSITY 


BOSTON    AND    NEW   YORK 

HOUGHTON    MIFFLIN   COMPANY 

®be  fiitoeqftue  ptejjjrf  CambriDge 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1867,  by 

James  M.  Hoppim, 

in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  for  the  District  of  Connecticut. 


PREFACE. 


The  mctive  which  has  chiefly  led  to  the  publica- 
tion of  the  following  recollections  of  English  travel, 
nas  been  the  hope  of  exerting  some  little  influence 
upon  our  countrymen  who  go  abroad,  to  induce 
them  to  spend  more  time  in  England  than  they 
are  commonly  inclined  to  do,  and  to  see  that 
country  more  thoroughly,  instead  of  making  it  a 
stepping-stone  to  the  Continent. 

There  have  been  heretofore,  it  is  true,  good 
reasons  for  this  disinclination  of  Americans  to 
remain  very  long  in  England ;  but  these  rea- 
sons do  not  now  exist,  or  at  least  to  the  extent 
that  they  once  did.  And  it  hardly  need  be  said, 
that  there  is  no  country  which  contains  so  much 
of  absorbing  interest  to  a  thoughtful  American 
as  Old  England ;  finding  there  as  he  does  the 
head-springs  of  the  life  and  power  of  his  own 
nation,  and  in  almost  every  object  that  his  eye 
rests  upon,  seeing  that  which  (a  short  two  cen- 
turies ago)  formed  part  of  his  own  history.     He 


IV  PREFACE. 

finds  there  the  complement  of  the  life  of  the  New 
World.  It  is  especially  good  for  his  intensely 
active  American  nature  to  come  in  contact  with 
the  slower  and  graver  spirit  of  England,  and  it 
thereby  gains  calmness  and  sobered  strength. 

I  do  not  profess  in  these  pages  to  present  much 
that  is  new  or  comprehensive  in  relation  to  so  well- 
known  a  country  as  England ;  but  I  have  striven 
to  draw  a  faithful  though  rapid  picture  of  the 
English  portion  of  the  island,  going  from  Tweed- 
mouth  to  Land's  End,  touching  upon  nearly  every 
county,  and  making  the  entire  circuit  of  the  land. 
The  English  Cathedrals  have  particularly  attracted 
me,  and  I  have  loved  to  linger  in  their  majestic 
shadows  ;  and  for  the  sake  of  younger  readers, 
some  account  has  been  given  of  the  history  and 
progress  of  Architecture  in  England. 

I  have  everywhere  spoken  with  the  freedom 
which  an  American  is  accustomed  to  exercise  upon 
all  subjects,  and  yet  in  no  spirit  of  bitterness  oi 
hostility,  but,  on  the  contrary,  in  a  spirit  of  rever* 
»nce  and  love  for  the  great  land  of  our  fathers. 


PREFACE   TO   THE   THIRD  EDITION. 


The  publication  of  this  edition  affords  me  the 
opportunity  to  correct  a  few  errors  which  had 
heretofore  escaped  niy  attention,  some  of  which 
were  brought  to  my  notice  by  friendly  criticism. 

A  brief  Itinerary  of  travel  in  England  has  also 
Deen  added. 

Having  been  led  to  think  of  the  common  rela- 
tions  of  the  two  countries  of  England  and  America, 
it  has  seemed  to  me,  that  in  regard  to  the  natural 
sympathy  which  there  should  be  between  these  na- 
tions (notwithstanding  it  has  received  rude  shocks) 
there  is  nothing,  after  all,  more  important  than  the 
familiar  fact  of  a  common  literature.  When  we 
analyze  it,  this  appears  to  be  the  main  source  of 
our  most  genuine  sympathy  for  England,  wher- 
ever it  exists.  Because  we  read  the  same  English 
Bible,  and  sing  the  same  sweet  English  hymns  • 
because  we  comprehend  the  words  of  William 
Sliakspeare,  John  Milton,  and  John  Bunyan ;  be- 


VI  PREFACE. 

cause  we  laugh  and  weep  over  the  same  pagvs 
of  Hawthorne  and  Whittier,  Thackeray  and  Dick- 
ens,—  this  is  a  spiritual  bond  more  profound  thar, 
commercial  ties  and  international  treaties,  and 
more  present  and  vital  than  past  historic  associa- 
tions. This  is  the  true  fountain  of  Arethusa  which 
runs  under  the  sea,  and  rises  on  our  shores  in 
bright  and  living  waters.  While  the  two  English- 
speaking  nations  are  true  to  the  best  words  of  their 
best  writers,  so  long  they  are  really  one  ;  but  when 
they  prove  disloyal  to  these  words,  and  grow  supine 
and  atheistic  —  when  they  lose  the  free  spirit,  the 
simple  truth  and  love  of  their  noblest  minds,  of 
their  great  authors  and  poets  —  then  they  will  be 
alien  and  divided. 

J.  M.  H. 

N«w  Haven,  JVor.  1, 1867. 


PREFACE  TO  THE  FIFTH  EDITION. 


A  French  writer  remarks :  "  Eien  n'est  plut 
facile  que  cTSerire  sur  V Angleterre,  rien  rC est  plus 
difficile  que  la  connaitre." 

It  is  indeed  a  difficult  study  really  to  know 
England;  since,  like  the  races  which  have  blended 
in  the  formation  of  the  English  language,  the 
character  of  this  composite  nation  has  its  roots 
in  the  most  distant  epochs  of  time  and  the  most 
complicated  historical  circumstances.  That  is 
truly  an  ancient  and  profound  civilization  which 
presents  such  strong  contrasts  of  old  and  new,  of 
luxury  and  pauperism,  of  the  highest  Christian 
culture  and  the  most  impenetrable  and  almost 
pagan  ignorance,  of  oppressive  forms  of  feudal  law 
ind  out-and-out  democratic  freedom  of  thought 
and  action. 

I  profess  to  have  opened  the  door  of  this  an- 
tique dwelling  but  a  little  way  and  taken  just  a 
Deep  within,  yet  it  is  ';  our  old  home,"  as  Haw- 
ihome  bluntly  styles   it,   and   the  grandchildren 


Via  PREFACE    TO   THE   FIFTH   EDITION. 

have  their  rights.  Many  changes  had  taken  place 
since  my  former  visit,  which  I  was  glad  to  note 
when  recently  in  England.  Our  good  mother, 
Britannia,  has  brushed  up  her  housekeeping  of 
late  years  wonderfully.  She  has  added  to  her 
front  door  in  London  the  splendid  "  Victoria 
Embankment ; "  has  built  the  "  Charing  Cross 
Station  ; "  has  procured  some  rare  objects  of  in- 
terest from  Ephesus  and  the  East  for  the  British 
Museum  ;  has  reared  a  gorgeous  monument  to  the 
memory  of  the  Prince  Consort  in  Hyde  Park  ; 
has  reformed  her  school-system,  which  so  greatly 
needed  it ;  has  laid  tenderly  to  rest  such  noble 
children  as  Thackeray  and  Kingsley,  and  buried, 
under  the  arches  of  Westminster  Abbey,  the  dust 
of  her  brilliant  writer,  "  the  historian  of  libertv." 
In  this  last  edition  of  my  little  book,  which 
will  probably  be  the  last,  but  which  the  public 
demand  has  justified,  a  careful  revision  of  the 
work  has  been  made,  and  a  chapter  added,  giv- 
ing some  fresh  impressions  of  a  brief  sojourn  in 
England  in  the  month  of  June  of  the  present 
yeai. 

New  IIavkn,   October,  1877 


CONTENTS. 


:haptp.b 

I.  Liverpool  to  London        .... 

II.  London      .  

HI.  London  .        .         ...        ... 

IV.  Environs  of  London      .... 

V.  Homes  of  Arnold  and  Cowper 

VI.  Weston  Underwood  to  Cheltenham 

VII.  Cheltknham,  Bristol,  and  Gloucester 

fill.  Worcester  to  Dudley  .... 

IX.  Lichfield  to  Matlock     .... 

X.  Matlock  to  Manchester 

XL  The  Lake  Country 

XII.  The  Lake  Country  (continued) 

XIII.  TWEEDMOUTH   TO   HAWORTH  .  . 

XIV.  Home  of  the  Pilgrims         .        •        . 

XV.  Lincoln  to  Ely 

XVI.  The  Universities 

XVII.  London  to  Folkestone     .... 

XVIII.  Tunbridge  Wells  to  Isle  of  Wight 

XIX.  Southampton  to  Salisbury     . 

XX.  South  Devon  and  Torquay  . 

XXI.  Cornwall  and  Penzance 

XXII.  Land's  End 

XXIII.  North  Devon  and  Wells         .        .        . 

XXIV.  Glastonbury  and  the  Wye 

XXV.  England  Revisited     .... 
XXVI.  Old  and  New 


1 

25 
42 
70 
84 

9a 

115 

130 
152 
171 
189 
205 
219 
241 
252 
265 
305 
325 
344 
361 
382 
407 

,  424 
441 

,  46 '5 
491 


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OLD    ENGLAND. 


CHAPTER  L 

LIVERPOOL  TO    LONDON. 

Solid,  unromantic  Liverpool,  whose  greatness  if 
entirely  of  modern  growth,  though  its  charter  dates 
back  to  the  twelfth  century,  will  not  detain  us ;  for 
it  is  too  much  like  Boston,  or  one  of  our  own  large 
commercial  cities. 

Red-walled  Chester,  also,  which  is  invariably  the 
next  step  of  an  American  traveler  who  longs  to  see 
something  of  Old  England,  —  something  different 
from  what  he  sees  at  home,  —  has  been  so  often  de- 
scribed, that  I  will  begin  my  story  at  once  in  the 
railway  carriage  flying  out  of  Chester  westward  to 
Bangor ;  for  I  intend  to  take  my  reader  to  London 
around  by  the  way  of  North  Wales,  which  is  by  far 
the  most  interesting  route,  and  which,  if  not  taken 
at  first,  is  not  apt  to  be  passed  over  upon  one's 
return. 

Emerson  calls  an  English  railway  carriage,  "  a 
cushioned  cannon-ball."  There  is  a  wonderfully 
smooth  rapidity  upon  an  English  railway  ;  and  yet 
with  all  this  speed,  one  has  a  great  sense  of  personal 


2  OLD  ENGLAND. 

security.  Were  the  American  system  of  checking 
luggage  adopted,  there  would  be  an  improvement. 
It  depends  upon  word-of-mouth  communication 
whether  one's  trunks  go  with  one  and  stop  with 
one ;  and  thus  by  mere  good  luck  they  are  shifted 
and  passed  along.  Sometimes  a  label  is  pasted,  but 
at  most  places  one  is  told  that  labels  are  not  used  ; 
for  the  idea  seems  to  be  that  the  owner  himself 
should  mark,  or  at  least  look  out  for,  his  own  lug- 
gage. This  may  be  done  for  considerable  distances, 
but  it  is  impracticable  for  tourists  making  frequent 
stops  in  the  course  of  a  day.  It  is  the  best  plan  for 
a  traveler  in  England,  to  take  with  him  a  simple 
portmanteau  that  he  can  carry  in  his  hand.  The 
first-class  carriage  is  truly  luxurious,  light  and 
splendid  with  plate-glass  sides,  and  furnished  with 
capacious  springy  seats,  and  with  every  accommo- 
dation for  the  bestowing  of  bundles,  hats,  and  um- 
brellas. The  second-class  carriage  forms  a  lament- 
able  contrast  to  this ;  it  is  as  hard,  bare,  and  un- 
^  "omely  a  box  as  oak  boards  can  make  it ;  its  seats 

are  uncushioned,  and  frequently  dirtied  by  the  bas- 
kets and  boots  of  railway  workmen,  market-men, 
'V  and  "  tramps."  There  seems  to  be  little  or  no  dis- 
tinction between  the  second  and  third  class  car- 
riages  excepting  in  this,  that  the  second-class  car- 
riages are  resorted  to  by  the  most  respectable  peo- 
ple, on  account  of  the  expensiveness  of  the  first. 
But  let  me  say  a  word  of  commendation  of  tha 
English  railway  porters :  they  are  true  friends  of 
the    traveler,    being    easily    distinguishable    in 


LIVERPOOL  TO  LONDON.  8 

erowd  from  their  dress  of  black  velveteen,  and  ar« 
always  at  the  right  spot  to  afford  assistance,  to  re- 
lieve one  of  his  parcels,  to  point  out  the  booking 
office,  to  put  the  luggage  in  the  right  carriage,  in 
fact  to  do  all  that  can  be  done,  —  and  to  expect  nc 
fee  for  it.  I  was  always  tempted  to  break  the  strict 
letter  of  the  law,  and  to  reward  these  men  for  such 
efficient  service. 

On  leaving  Chester  the  railway  runs  along  the 
artificial  canal  made  for  the  channel  of  the  Dee. 
The  river  widens  toward  its  mouth  into  a  shallow 
bay,  forming  an  enormous  bed  of  shifting  sand, 
covered  grandly  with  the  water  at  full  tide,  but 
shrinking  into  dribbling  rills  and  petty  ditches  at 
ebb.  As  one  speeds  along  he  catches  distant  views 
of  the  Welsh  Mountains  on  the  left,  and  on  the 
right  lies  the  broad  river  Dee,  and  soon  the  sea  it- 
self.  The  green  valleys  run  up  into  the  highlands, 
and  now  and  then  a  castellated  mansion,  or  ruined 
tower,  or  genuine  old  castle  is  seen,  hanging  on  the 
slope  of  the  hills.  The  road  from  about  this  point 
to  Bangor  is  a  triumph  of  engineering  skill. 
Sometimes  the  track  it*  crowded  between  the 
mountains  and  the  sea  so  narrowly,  that  in  stormy 
weather  the  cars  are  dashed  by  the  waves.  The 
tunnels  and  the  tubular  and  suspension  bridges  at 
Conway  are  stupendous  works.  With  the  solid 
piers  of  the  bridges,  and  the  massive  old  castle 
»bove,  Conway  is  a  city  of  the  Anakim.  After 
crossing  the  bridge  here  one  comes  into  Caernar- 
ronshire,  which   of  all   the  Welsh   counties   con 


%  OLD  ENGLAND. 

tains  the  most  rugged  and  characteristic  Welsh 
scenery.  Soon  the  track  runs  around  the  project- 
ing rocks  of  Penmaen-bach  and  Peninaen-maur, 
precipitous  crags  jutting  out  like  great  foreheads 
into  the  sea,  and  which  were  the  former  terror  of 
travelers.  Dr.  Johnson  records  the  peril  he  felt  in 
climbing  the  dizzy  road  which  once  crept  around 
their  sea-face.  Now  these  formidable  crags  are 
tunnelled,  the  first  cut  being  six  hundred  ana  thirty 
yards  long,  through  flint  rock. 

Bangor  (derived  from  "ban  gor  "  or  the  "great 
circle,"  a  generic  British  word  for  a  "  religious  con- 
gregation "  or  "  fraternity  ")  is  situated  along  a 
narrow  ravine,  with  a  mountain  at  its  back,  and 
Beaumaris  Bay  in  front.  It  is  the  seat  of  a  bish- 
opric, and  is  one  of  the  oldest  centres  of  a  still  more 
primitive  faith ;  for  here  doubtless  existed  a  pure 
Christianity  before  the  time  of  Augustine,  the  re- 
puted apostle  of  England.  A  profound  spirituality 
still  characterizes  the  religion  of  these  Welsh  peo- 
ple. In  their  wild  mountains  and  close  valleys 
they  cherish  their  original  faith,  traditions,  and 
language.  Three  things,  according  to  a  Welsh 
triad,  should  a  Cymro  (Welshman)  bear  in  mind 
lest  he  dishonor  them:  his  father,  his  country,  and 
his  name  Cymro.  An  older  Welsh  triad  says, 
three  things  are  shameful  to  a  Cymro :  to  look  with 
one  eye,  to  listen  with  one  ear,  to  defend  with  one 
hand.  Thus  a  whole-hearted  persistency  of  charac- 
ter seems  to  be  the  heritage  of  this  stubborn  race. 

Travelers  must   be  allowed   to   talk  and  even 


LIVERPOOL  TO  LONDON.  5 

grumble  about  hotels ;  for  these  are  often  the  only 
"interiors"  they  see,  and  they  sometimes  form  the 
only  means  strangers  have  of  judging  of  the  style 
of  living,  and  of  a  hundred  little  things  in  the  com- 
mon life  of  a  people.  One  is  made  exceedingly 
comfortable  at  a  first-class  English  hotel,  but  there 
is  a  stiffness  about  it  which  is  not  apt  to  be  found 
in  the  best  American  or  Continental  hotels.  Sel- 
dom is  there  a  public  table  ;  and  if  the  party  com- 
prise ladies,  one  is  forced,  even  if  staying  for  a 
single  day,  to  take  a  private  parlor.  But  I  am 
quite  converted  to  the  English  private  parlor. 
After  a  long  day's  journey  in  heat  and  dust,  strug- 
gling on  with  an  eager  and  vexed  human  current, 
to  be  ushered  into  one's  own  room,  quiet  as  a  room 
at  home,  furnished  often  with  books  and  every  lux- 
ury and  comfort,  this  goes  some  way  toward  recom- 
pensing the  traveler  for  the  exclusiveness  of  the 
thing.  He  is,  it  is  true,  entirely  isolated.  If  his 
dearest  friend  were  dying  in  the  next  room,  he 
would  not  find  it  out,  for  seldom  is  there  a  registry- 
book  kept  in  an  English  hotel.  And  one  rarely 
risks  a  question  to  the  dignified  and  taciturn  waiter, 
with  gravity  and  white  cravat  enough  to  be  the 
Dean  of  Westminster. 

The  best  En  dish  hotels  have  one  feature  that  it 
were  surely  well  for  us  to  imitate.  They  are  not 
altogether  confined  to  interior  magnificence  and 
showy  upholstery,  but  have  generally  a  pleasant 
breathing-space  of  ornamental  grounds  and  garden 
tbout  them.     In  the  dry  heart  of  busy  cities,  there 


8  OLD  ENGLAND. 

will  be  a  few  flower-beds,  a  bit  of  green  grass,  anJ 
walks  enough  at  least  to  turn  around  in.  At  the 
"  Penryhn  Arms  "  in  Bangor,  the  garden  is  truly 
beautiful.  It  is  laid  out  in  star  and  crescent  shaped 
beds,  fringed  with  bright  flowers,  and  the  grass  is 
soft  and  springy  with  moss.  It  slopes  oft'  toward 
the  water,  commanding  a  fine  view  of  the  harbor, 
the  entrance  of  the  Menai  Strait,  the  Bay  of  Beau- 
maris, and  the  opposite  mountainous  shore  of  tho 
island.  When  I  first  saw  it,  the  harbor  of  Bangor 
had  a  very  odd  appearance.  The  tide  was  out,  and 
a  vast  mud-bank  swept  smoothly  and  steeply  dowr. 
to  the  deeper  abyss  beyond.  The  vessels  looked  as 
though  they  were  climbing  up  this  immense  hill- 
side of  mud.  Some  stood  erect ;  some  were  heeled 
over ;  some  were  stern-foremost  to  the  sea ;  and 
some  were  hitched  painfully  up  sideways  upon  the 
bank.     The  flags  nevertheless  were  all  gallantly 

flying- 

I  shall  not  attempt  to  describe  the  remarkable 

bridges  over  the  Menai  Strait ;  but  cannot  pass  by 

the  view  of  the  Strait  itself,  and  its  surroundings, 

as  seen  from  the  roof  of  the  Britannia  Tubular 

Bridge.     It  is  an  epitome  of  almost  all  that  is  great 

in  Nature  and  the  works  of  man. 

On  the  Caernarvon  side  of  the  Strait  are  seen  the 

craggy  mountains  of  "Wales,  that  looked  blue  and 

soft  in  the  misty  distance,  while  the  hazy  morning 

Bun  filled  the  spaces  between  their  summits  with 

that  undefined  and  vapory  light  which   the   artist 

*oves.      Yet  their  rugged  outline,  culminating  ir 


LIVERPOOL   TO  LONDON.  T 

the  sharp-pointed  cone  of  Snowdon,  could  be  per- 
fectly seen  to  the  southeast.  To  the  south,  on  the 
island  itself,  was  the  ancient  Druidic  grove,  in  the 
midst  of  whose  shadows  stood  the  white  walls  of 
the  Plas  Newydd,  the  seat  of  the  Marquis  of  An- 
glesey. More  than  a  hundred  feet  immediately  be- 
low, raved  and  whirled  the  broad  Strait  itself;  not 
a  river,  nor  a  sea,  but  something  of  both.  In  some 
places  it  is  two  miles  in  breadth,  its  sides  precipi- 
tous and  its  banks  thickly  wooded.  The  sea,  as  if 
chafed  by  its  narrow  walls,  looks  petulant  and  an- 
gry, though  here  and  there  it  is  entirely  smooth  in 
back-setting  pools.  Vessels  sailing  through  the 
Strait  are  at  the  mercy  of  the  currents  and  tide ; 
now  they  crowd  sail  for  one  bank,  and  now  they 
drift  like  a  log  to  the  other.  In  a  storm  the  scene 
must  be  magnificent,  such  an  ocean  race-way  as  it 
is.  How  the  great  green  billows  would  leap  and 
chase  each  other  through  the  long  gorge  !  There 
is  a  fisherman's  small  white  house  standing  on  a 
low  rock  almost  in  the  middle  of  the  Strait,  which, 
with  its  irregular  shape,  its  lines  of  fishing-stakes 
set  around  it,  and  its  bold  insulated  position,  is  a 
picturesque  object.  The  water  boils  and  swirls 
around  it,  and  rushes  by  it  with  tremendous  ra- 
pidity. Indeed,  this  whole  channel  reminded  me 
of  the  formidable  gorge  of  Niagara  River  just  below 
the  Falls,  filled  with  its  vexed,  foam-streaked,  and 
green-colored  flood. 

At  the  completion  of  the  central  tower  of  the 
'  Britannia    Tubular   Bridge,''  wnich  is  two  hun 


\ 


8  OLD  ENGLAND. 

ired  and  thirty  feet  high,  and  holds  the  whol* 
structure  in  its  strong  hand,  Mr.  Stephenson  said : 
"  Let  them  not,  any  more  than  himself,  and  all 
wko  have  been  connected  with  this  great  work, 
forget  that  whatever  may  have  been,  or  whatever 
may  be  the  ability,  science,  intelligence,  and  zeal 
brought  to  bear  on  the  creature's  works,  it  is  to  the 
Creator  we  should  offer  praise  and  thanksgiving ; 
for  without  his  blessing  on  our  works,  how  can  we 
expect  them  to  prosper  ?  He  fully  believed  that 
Providence  had  been  pleased  to  smile  on  the  under- 
taking, and  he  hoped  that  they  all  with  him  would 
endeavor  to  obtain  those  smiles."  It  is  pleasant  to 
see  such  a  simple  faith  in  a  mind  devoted  to  so  ma- 
terial a  science  as  mechanics.  Who  can  say  that 
the  deep  secrets  of  Nature  which  such  a  mind 
grasped,  were  not  also  the  fruit  of  this  faith,  just  as 
truly  as  if  he  had  thought  and  labored  in  purely 
spiritual  things.  Truly  they  build  strong  who  thus 
build. 

It  is  but  a  short  distance  of  some  nine  miles  by 
rail  from  Bangor  to  Caernarvon  on  the  Menai 
Strait,  wThere  are  the  ruins  of  the  majestic  castle  of 
the  ancient  kings  of  England,  who  finally  suc- 
ceeded in  dominating  over  Wales,  partly  by  force 
and  partly  by  politic  concession.  Height  gives  the 
singular  majesty  which  is  so  marked  in  the  remains 
of  Caernarvon  Castle  ;  and  some  of  its  loftiest 
towers  are  still  perfect  to  the  topmost  stone. 
There  are  thirteen  of  these  towers,  most  of  their 
•jeing  surmounted  by  tall  slim  turrets.     From  th» 


LIVERPOOL  TO  LONDON.  9 

water  side  the  aspect  of  the  "  Eagle  Tower,"  from 
which  the  broad  flag  of  England  floats,  is  imposing 
The  principal  entrance  of  the  castle  has  a  sober 
grandeur  that  all  the  changes  of  time  cannot  de- 
stroy. A  featureless  statue  of  King  Edward  I. 
stands  above  the  gateway  arch.  An  area  of  three 
acres  is  said  to  be  inclosed  by  the  walls.  It  is  a 
good  place  to  study  the  plan  and  details  of  an  early 
mediasval  castle  built  on  the  largest  scale  of  reo-al 
magnificence.  The  soldiers'  quarters,  prisons,  sta- 
bles, granaries,  kitchen,  servants'  rooms,  chapel, 
royal  chambers,  banquet  hall,  jousting  yard,  can 
still  be  perfectly  made  out.  There  seems  to  have 
been  a  proud  and  complete  separation  kept  up  be- 
tween the  military  and  civil  depai'tments.  But 
lord  and  servant  are  now  one.  Jackdaws  have 
poked  their  sticks  in  the  windows  of  queens'  cham- 
bers ;  and  it  would  not  be  possible  for  the  lightest 
maiden's  foot  to  traverse  the  battlements  upon 
which  kings  have  walked  and  mused.  Stairways 
hang  broken  midway;  the  sides  of  great  towers 
have  rushed  down,  taking  the  heart  out  of  them  ; 
the  stone  eagles  on  the  turrets  of  the  Eagle  Tower 
are  reduced  to  black,  shapeless,  wingless  blocks ; 
and  well  has  it  been  called  "  that  worm-eaten  keep 
of  ragged  stone."  But  the  walls  of  this  old  Ed- 
wardean  stronghold  are  still  massive,  defying  time, 
though  they  would  be  nothing  to  gunpowder. 

The  first  part  of  the  ride  from  Caernarvon  to 
Qanberis,  a  distance  of  ten  miles,  is  a  slow  ascent, 
fcnd  has  no  peculiar  interest;  and  yet  one  has  an 


10  OLD  ENGLAND 

opportunity  to  see  the  miniature  <vhite  stone  farm- 
houses, with  their  black  funereal-looking  wooden 
porticoes,  and  the  small  black  Welsh  cattle  dotting 
the  hill-sides.  The  farms  appear  to  be  principally 
grazing  farms,  and  they  become  more  and  more 
rocky  and  unpromising  as  one  approaches  the  hills, 
the  stones  growing  as  thick  as  in  a  New  Hampshire 
sheep-pasture.  After  some  five  miles,  the  moun- 
tains of  the  Snowdon  range  are  seen  over  the  lower 
hills  in  advance,  rising  by  one  bound  in  a  bold  Avail 
from  the  plain  ;  and  through  a  narrow  rock-portal, 
like  that  at  Cluses  on  the  way  from  Geneva  to 
Chamouni,  one  enters  the  mountains.  "  Snow- 
don "  is  a  later  Saxon  name  ;  the  more  ancient 
British  name  of  this  range  is  said  to  signify  "  Eagle- 
rid  ge  "  or  "  Eagle-crag-ridge."      The  craggy  and 

CT  O  O  CT  OCT*' 

wild  characteristics  of  a  mountain  pass  are  now  be- 
fore and  around  ;  and  one  soon  begins  to  skirt  the 
shores  of  the  small  twin  lakes  of  Llanberis.  These 
are  insignificant  in  size,  it  is  true,  —  rather  ponds 
than  lakes,  —  but  the  upper  and  inner  one  of  some 
two  miles  in  length,  is  a  singular  sheet  of  water, 
lying  smooth  and  glassy  in  the  shadow  of  gloomy 
and  verdureless  mountains.  The  sharp-edged  and 
splintered  character  of  the  slate  mountains  of  Wales 
adds  to  their  sombreness,  —  being  almost  literallv 

7  O  J 

black,  —  and  when    wet    glistening    and   gleaming 

7  CT  CT  o  O 

fiercely  in  the  sun,  and  their  immense  shelving 
precipices  of  sheer  rock  well  atone  for  their  want 
of  great  height ;  for  a  thousand  feet  of  bare  Alpine 
precipice  always  looks  grander  than  three  thousand 


LIVEKPOOL  TO  LONDON.  ll 

feet  of  wooded  and  gentle  descent.  The  view  from 
the  top  of  Snowdon  is  said  to  be  one  of  the  noblest 
in  England,  commanding  as  from  a  central  throne 
all  of  rocky  Wales,  the  sea,  the  island  of  Anglesea, 
and  the  highest  points  of  England,  Scotland,  and 
Ireland.  And  another  interest  attaches  itself  to 
this  broken  range  of  Welsh  mountains  ;  they  are 
held  by  the  best  modern  geologists  to  form  the  old- 
est portion  of  the  island  of  England.  They  rose 
first  of  all  from  the  waters  ;  and  around  them,  as  a 
solitary  nucleus  in  the  ocean  of  the  earliest  period 
of  creation,  the  rest  of  the  land  was  gradually 
formed.  We  tread  here  on  the  primitive  land  of 
Britain.  We  are  at  the  head  source  of  her  an- 
tiquity, before  a  living  thing  had  appeared. 

On  the  further  shore  of  the  lake  of  Llyn  Peris  ia 
a  vast  slate  quarry  scooped  out  of  the  mountain 
side,  and  lying  open  to  view,  resembling  a  gigantic 
Roman  amphitheatre  with  its  regular  rows  of  seats. 
A  small  locomotive  puffs  and  smokes  along  at  the 
foot  of  the  Alt  Du  Mountain,  to  carry  slates  to 
Caernarvon,  whence  they  are  shipped  to  all  parts 
of  the  kingdom,  and  to  America.  Slate  constitutes 
the  wood  of  this  region.  It  shingles  the  roof,  clap- 
boards the  wall,  makes  the  door,  floors  the  room, 
and  builds  the  fence.  Tall  boards  of  it,  knitted  to- 
gether with  wire,  form  a  very  strong,  enduring, 
and  neat  style  of  fence  ;  so  that  a  farmer  could  con- 
veniently make  all  his  "  calculations  "  while  swing- 
ing on  his  gate,  —  as  the  farmer  boys  are  said  to 
io  in  Yankee  land. 


12  OLD  ENGLAND. 

After  passing  through  the  village  of  Llanberw, 
the  real  mountain  Pass  in  its  true  wildness  and  toil 
Bomeness  begins  ;  it  is  a  rough  scene  ;  for  the  bed 
of  the  Pass  is  strewn  with  vast  fragments  of  rock 
torn  from  the  crags  above ;  and  in  and  out  and 
among  these  the  road  wearily  turns  and  winds  ;  the 
walls  of  naked  cliff  rise  boldlv  on  either  hand  ;  ana 
the  only  relief  to  this  savage  desolation  is  now  and 
then  a  little  clump  of  fox-gloves,  that  push  up  their 
slender  stems,  hung  with  spikes  of  faintly  crimson 
nodding  bells,  from  the  crevices  of  the  grim  rocks. 

From  the  summit  of  the  Pass,  a  descending  road 
of  five  miles,  affording  more  free  and  open  views 
of  the  irregular  mountains  of  the  Snowdon  range, 
brings  us  to  Capel  Cerrig,  which  is  the  centre  of 
the  best  scenery  in  Wales  ;  for  Southern  Wales 
is  by  no  means  so  grand  in  its  mountain  scenery, 
although  it  contains  much  that  is  boldly  picturesque  ; 
and  there  is  no  place  also  which  commands  such 
fine  points  of  view  within  such  short  distances. 
Capel  Cerrig  is  a  spot  where  one  would  be  satisfied 
to  stay  day  after  day,  until  the  snow  and  storms 
of  winter  made  it  dreary.  The  inn  is  a  comfortable 
and  neat  one,  built  almost  entirely  of  slate,  within 
and  without.  Maps,  books,  a  quiet  parlor,  a  clean 
table,  and  a  tasteful  garden,  —  these  are  charms  for 
any  man  ;  and  then,  by  a  few  steps  out  of  the  house, 
or  by  a  climb  up  the  steep  hill  at  its  back  to  a  little 
grassy  alp  or  mountain  pasture,  one  comes  to  perfect 
lolitude,  with  a  noble  view  of  the  whole  pyramidal 
mass  of    Snowdon  in  the  distance,  and  a  tranqui,' 


LIVERPOOL   TO   LONDOX.  13 

valley  with  a  gleam  of  peaceful  waters  at  your  feet. 
The  wild  flowers  upon  this  hill-side  appeared  to 
me  to  be  wonderfully  lovely  ;  but  with  the  exception 
of  the  fox-glove,  they  were  generally  very  small, 
such  as  hare-bells,  daisies,  crow's-foot,  and  heather 
blossoms ;  and  the  very  grass  seemed  to  be  filled 
with  the  most  minute  moss-smothered  flowers,  toe 
delicate  even  for  fragrance.  Wales  is  a  favorite 
botanizing  region,  and  its  ferns,  heathers,  and  all 
kinds  of  mountain  plants,  are ,  of  exquisite  beauty 
and  numberless  variety. 

The  road  on  toward  Corwen,  passes  through  a 
region  gradually  growing  less  rocky,  and  milder, 
and  more  fertile  in  its  character ;  the  lofty  sides  of 
the  vale  of  Llugvvy  are  covered  to  the  summit 
with  larches,  — beautiful  trees  when  found  standing 
together  in  a  wood,  —  making  pointed  lines  of  the 
greatest  regularity  and  softest  hue.  A  step  from 
the  road  through  the  larch-forest  brings  one  to  the 
verge  of  the  "  cataract  of  the  Swallow  ;  "  something 
more  than  a  pretty  waterfall,  for  without  being  on 
a  very  large  scale,  it  is  really  beautiful.  The  light 
penetrating  through  such  a  dense  mass  of  foliage, 
and  struggling  in  upon  the  water,  is  itself  of  a  rich 
..merald  green.  A  little  beyond  is  Bettwys-y-Coed, 
tne  shady  and  romantic  summer  retreat  of  landscape 
painters,  reminding  one  of  our  own  picturesque 
Conway  in  sight  of  the  White  Hills.  The  churcb 
at  Corwen,  just  back  of  the  inn,  is  of  fabulou» 
antiquity ;  and  its  gray  churchyard  is  patriarcha- 
m  appearance,  like    that  of  Ramlah,  or   the   oM 


14  OLD  ENGLAND. 

Hebrew  burial-ground  in  Prague.     It  has  a  monu- 
ment of   Owen    Glendower.     Was  not   his   name 


«j- 


£^ 


derived  from  the  river  Dee  ? 


^o*  .jjt-^It  was  market-day  at  Corwen,  and  the  costumes 

were  primitive,  particularly  the  high  hat  of  the 
^j^peasant  women,  which,  when  crowning  strong  and 
masculine  features  gives  the  impression  of  a  man's 
being  under  it,  especially  if  the  whole  figure  is  not 
at  first  seen.  One  may  still  meet  in  Wales  the 
conical  "  cappan  "  or  cap,  which  is  said  to  have 
*  come  down  from  the  most  ancient  British  days. 

-v^  From  Corwen  to  Llangollen,  we  come  again 
upon  the  romantic  river  Dee,  here  in  its  impetu- 
ous youth.  It  was  the  sacred  stream,  the  "  Diuw," 
the  Divine,  of  the  ancient  Welsh  ;  and  few  rivers 
of  the  same  length  link  together  more  opposite  or 
striking  scenes,  —  the  quiet  Bala  lake  and  the 
ocean,  splendid  modern  Eaton  Hall  and  venerable 
old  Chester,  the  rocky  Welsh  mountains  and  the 
broad  tranquil  Cheshire  meadows.  We  now  reach 
the  region  of  cultivated  fields,  of  flowering  hedges, 
and  the  white  briar  wild  rose  ;  the  Berwyn  hills 
rise  steeply  from  the  valley ;  and  indeed  the  scen- 
ery now  becomes  a  succession  of  changing  and 
lovely  valleys  —  Llangollen  the  loveliest  of  all. 
This  vale  spreads  out  into  wide  and  majestic  pro- 
portions, its  barriers  of  high  green  hills  receding 
and  rolling  away  gently  toward  the  east,  forming 
the  very  heart  of  all  that  is  rich  and  lovely  in 
Weish  scenery. 
Coming  out  of  Wales,  the  first  natural  stopping 


LIVERPOOL   TO   LONDON.  15 

place  is  "  good  old  Shrewsbury."  Shrewsbury,  in 
Shropshire,  or  the  county  of  Salop,  is  the  ideal  of 
a  hearty  English  town,  comfortable  and  quaint ;  it 
is  still  fit  to  live  in,  which  cannot  be  said  of  some 
old  towns,  such,  for  instance,  as  Chester,  which  is 
too  antique  for  modern  breadth  and  convenience  ; 
but  it  appeared  to  me  as  if  the  good  citizens  of 
Shrewsbury,  with  their  Welsh  mutton,  shady  trees, 
quiet  walks  and  rippling  Severn  River,  lived  as 
handsomely  and  happily  as  any  people  in  England. 
Abundance  flowed  down  their  streets  ;  fat  ducks 
and  poultry  lay  in  piles  in  the  market-place  ;  Chesh- 
ire cheese  and  butter  barricaded  the  side-walks  ; 
rosy  farm-maidens,  such  as  Edwin  Landseer  paints 
and  "  George  Eliot  "  describes,  stood  bare-armed 
and  bare-headed  in  the  sun.  How  different  these 
buxom  English  peasant  girls,  from  the  gaunt  and 
care-worn  market  women  that  one  sees  in  a  Ger- 
man town  !  In  January,  1860,  the  statue  of  Lord 
Clive  was  erected  in  the  Shrewsbury  market-place, 
although  Clive  was  born  at  Market-Drayton,  not 
far  distant,  where  his  youthful  exploit  of  climbing 
the  church-steeple  and  sitting  on  the  spout,  is  still 
fresh  in  the  traditions  of  the  people. 

The  Severn  River  forms  a  bend  around  the  city 
of  Shrewsbury,  and  at  this  bend  outside  the  walls 
there  are  meadows  which  have  been  left  open  as  a 
public  park  ;  and  here,  skirting  the  river,  is  "  St. 
Chad's  Walk,"  the  most  stately  avenue  of  lime- 
trees  in  England.  These  trees  were  said  to  have 
oeen  jlanted  by  one   man  in  one  day,  neajly  a 


16  OLD  ENGLAND. 

rentury  and  a  half  ago,  —  another  James  Hillhouse 
in  good  taste  and  public  spirit.  Battlefield  Church, 
on  the  spot  where  FalstafF  fought  his  hour  by 
Shrewsbury  clock,  is  about  four  miles  distant;  I 
did  not  visit  it,  but  am  told  that  it  stands  desolate 
and  neglected,  the  roof  having  tumbled  in,  and  the 
nave  being  open  to  rain  and  weather.  Only  one 
tower  of  the  ancient  wall  of  Shrewsbury  yet  remains, 
though  the  elevated  site  of  the  town  and  its  long 
line  of  old-fashioned  buildings  and  steeples,  still 
show  picturesquely  from  the  river.1 

At  Wolverhampton,  on  the  London  and  Holy- 
head road,  where  one  passes  into  Staffordshire,  the 
scenery  suddenly  changes  its  character ;  it  is  as  if 
an  invisible  line  were  drawn  between  Paradise  and 
Purgatory.  Instead  of  the  sweet  clear  sky,  one 
rushes  into  an  atmosphere  like  an  oven's  mouth  ; 
and  in  the  place  of  green  and  daisy-dropt  fields,  the 
ground  becomes  herblejs  and  black,  gloomy  enough 
^^r^j^for  Dord's  pencil.  Blast  furnaces  are  vomiting 
smoke  and  flame ;  the  streams  run  darkness ;  the 


Lr 


<!> 


sun  glares  raylessly  and  luridly  through  the  simmer- 
ing gaseous  air;  men  and  women  look  begrimed, 

1 1  never  could  see  the  Severn,  whether  here  in  its  modest  youth,  or 
near  its  mouth  in  its  Amazonian  greatness,  without  thinking  of  that 
old  quatrain :  — 

"  The  Avon  to  the  Severn  runs, 
The  Severn  to  the  sea : 
And  WicklifTs  dust  shall  spread  abroad 
Wide  as  the  waters  be." 

In  1425,  WicklifTs  body  was  exhumed  by  the  order  of  the  Bishop  ol 
Lincoln,  burned,  and  the  ashes  thrown  into  the  Swift,  a  little  strean 
which  empties  into  the  Avon. 


LIVERPOOL  TO  LONDON.  17 

and  smutchy-faced  children  play  hide-and-seek 
through  old  burst  engine-boilers ;  and  the  whole 
country  around  is  strewn  with  heaps  of  slag,  scoria, 
and  the  refuse  matter  of  the  blast  furnaces.  This 
represents  a  narrow  streak  of  country  across  which 
the  road  passes,  running  from  the  neighborhood  of 
Newport  down  to  Worcester ;  and  there  is  also  a 
much  broader  coal  region  that  lies  between  Lich- 
field and  Kidderminster.  But  in  this  "  Black 
Country,"  notwithstanding  its  Tartarean  aspect, 
the  power  of  Old  England  couches  herself  like  a 
dragon  breathing  flame  and  smoke,  —  the  dragon 
that  St.  George  of  England  (George  Stephenson) 
has  manfully  subdued  and  hitched  to  the  car  of 
progress. 

The  railway  into  Birmingham,  in  Warwick 
County,  runs  above  the  tops  of  an  immense  assem- 
blage of  low,  dingy  brick  houses  with  red-tiled 
roofs ;  block  after  block,  street  after  street,  undis- 
tinguished by  any  architectural  superiority  the  one 
over  the  other,  are  passed  over  ;  the  fragments  of 
machinery  strew  the  work-yards ;  long  factories 
are  glided  by  ;  sign-boards  that  seem  to  stretch  the 
length  of  a  train  are  spelled  out  word  by  word  ; 
and  at  length  one  comes  to  a  stand-still  in  the  heart 
of  the  workshop  of  England,  where  John  Bull  has 
his  sleeves  rolled  up,  and  a  square  paper-cap  on 
lis  head. 

All  things  have  an  opportunity  to  prove  them- 
selves in  Birmingham  ;  and  from  the  last  invention 
in  machinery  to  Dr.  Newman's  Catholic  Convent, 
a 


18  OLD   ENGLAND. 

there  is  free  and  kindly  soil  for  the  theorist.  Dr. 
Newman's  gentle  and  yet  austere  presence  hal- 
lowed even  so  practical  and  work-a-day  a  world 
as  Birmingham,  showing  that  pure  devotion  to 
the  love  of  God  may  burn  serenely  amid  the  strifes 
of  earthly  activities.  As  a  writer  of  idiomatic 
English,  simple  and  strong,  while  preserving  the 
most  delicate  harmonies  of  the  language,  he  de- 
serves  our  sympathetic  study.  I  had  noticed  a 
small  portrait  of  him  in  a  shop  window,  which  I 
mistook  for  the  likeness  of  Ralph.  Waldo  Emerson  ; 
and  this  awakened  my  curiosity  to  see  his  religious 
establishment ;  so  taking  a  seat  in  an  Edgbaston 
omnibus,  I  was  soon  at  Dr.  Newman's  conventual 
house,  —  an  unsightly  brick  building  not  far  out  of 
the  city,  with  a  shabby  little  chapel  attached  to  it, 
—  any  thing  but  the  imposing  ecclesiastical  struct- 
ure one  would  have  expected  from  a  man  of  taste 
and  a  scholar.  Inside  of  the  chapel  door  was 
pasted  this  notice  :  "  Plenary  Indulgence  to  all  the 
faithful  who  after  confession  and  communion  shall 
visit  the  chapel  and  pray  for  the  intention  of  the 
Pope."  There  was  certainly  nothing  to  attract  the 
faithful  into  this  door  ;  —  the  whole  affair  was  com- 
monplace, flimsy,  and  cheap,  with  some  faded  pre- 
tensions to  paint  and  splendor,  and  with  a  crude 
image  of  the  Virgin  that  would  have  hardly  satis- 
fied a  third-rate  Italian  village  church.  If  this  be 
the  chief  instrumentality  to  convert  England  to 
the  Catholic  faith,  it  will  probably  fail ;  but  in 
saying  this,  I  would  say  nothing  against  the  most 


LIVERPOOL   TO   LONDON.  19 

truly  lovely  character  of  Dr.  Newman,  and  that 
spell  of  genius  and  power,  with  which  he  is  said 
to  have  attracted  those  who  came  within  the  sphere 
of  Jiis  personal  influence. 

I  noticed  in  Birmingham,  what  I  also  noticed 
more  especially  in  Liverpool  and  Manchester,  and 
in  some  other  cities  whose  greatness  is  of  modem 
growth,  that  notwithstanding  this  fact,  the  city 
looks  perfectly  finished.  Every  thing  is  as  com- 
plete and  solid  as  if  this  life  were  to  last  forever. 
There  is  nothing  more  to  be  done.  There  is  no 
gap  to  be  filled,  no  pulling  down  and  building  up, 
as  with  us.  We  may  be  sure  that  the  English 
would  not  be  apt  to  pull  down  an  old  house  like 
"  the  Hancock  House,"  to  make  way  for  a  modern 
building,  though  something  of  this  sort  has  been 
done  of  late  in  London  by  the  pressure  of  neces- 
sity. An  old  sign-board,  half  undecipherable, 
would  be  very  likely  to  be  left  hanging  for  the  sake 
of  its  past  respectability.  Whatever  has  stood  the 
trial  of  time,  has  acquired  in  England  preemption 
from  change.  Whatever  is  established,  is  con- 
cluded to  be  right,  beautiful,  and  good. 

In  the  midst  of  the  earnest  life  of  this  hard-work- 
ing city,  at  the  exciting  hour  of  high  noon,  when 
the  busy  human  tide  was  greatest  in  the  streets,  I 
saw  our  lively  little  friend  "  Punch,"  in  vigorous 
discussion  with  his  worthy  helpmate.  An  Eng- 
lish institution  this !  The  contracted  brow  was 
relaxed ;  the  quick  step  was  arrested ;  and  the 
English  lovo  of  fun  and  fighting  broko  out.     High 


20  OLD  ENGLAND. 

mid  .o\v  gathered  around  the  small  booth ;  men 
with  bars  of  iron  upon  their  shoulders,  carmen  sit- 
ting sideways  on  their  elephantine  horses,  clerks 
with  their  papers  in  their  hands,  all  for  the  mo- 
ment forgot  work,  and  even  bank  hours,  and  as 
they  gazed  roars  of  hearty  laughter  followed  the 
fierce  piping  denunciations,  and  the  determined 
thwacks  of  Mr.  Punch. 

Although,  going  out  from  Leamington  Spa  as  a 
centre,  I  visited  Warwick,  Kenilworth,  and  other 
well-known  places,  I  cannot  bring  myself  to  speak 
of  but  one  or  two  more  of  these  places  on  the  road 
to  London. 

I  have  no  intention  to  rhapsodize  at  the  tomb  of 
Shakspeare.  When  I  visited  it,  there  happened  to 
be  a  great  gathering  of  people  in  the  church  upon 
the  occasion  of  instituting  "  The  Bard  of  Avon 
Lodge  of  Free  Masons ;  "  and  it  appeared  to  me  to 
be  a  strange  enough  ceremony  to  occur  in  such  a 
place  as  this.  The  Masonic  Brotherhood,  distin- 
guished by  their  dress  and  decorations,  filled  the 
body  of  the  church.  A  young  clergyman  preached 
from  the  fifth  chapter  of  Ezra,  about  rebuilding  the 
old  temple  of  true  worship  and  of  Christian  broth- 
erhood in  these  godless  and  degenerate  davs. 
Though  not  one  of  the  initiated,  I  joined  in  singing 
i  hymn  beginning  thus  :  — 


'  Great  Architect  of  earth  and  heaven, 

By  time  nor  space  confined, 
Enlarge  our  love  to  comprehend 
Our  Brethren,  all  mankind." 


LIVERPOOL   TO   LONDON.  21 

One  would  think  that  better  poetry  than  this 
might  have  been  produced  and  sung  in  Shak- 
Speare's  church,  and  yet,  after  all,  its  expansive 
sentiment  harmonized  with  the  spirit  of  the  place. 
An  opportunity  was  given  to  contribute  to  the 
erection  of  a  new  painted  window  to  the  edifice, 
which  will  be  something  pleasant  to  think  of  here- 
after. 

While  the  religious  services  were  progressing,  a 
loud  and  unearthly  shriek  rang  through  the  church. 
Such  a  singular  interruption  came  from  one  of  the 
side-aisles,  where  a  poor  tired  woman  had  been 
suddenly  seized  with  a  fit.  This  event  created 
considerable  confusion,  and  it  was  indeed,  for  the 
'noment,  quite  as  startling  as  any  of  the  poet's  own 
weird  scenes. 

In  the  heavy  shadow  of  one  of  the  ancient  pil- 
lars, I  noticed  a  very  old  man  wearing  a  red  vest, 
leaning  on  his  crutch,  with  trembling  head,  bleared 
eyes,  and  long,  tangled,  white  locks,  seeming  to  be 
hardly  conscious  of  what  was  taking  place  around 
him  ;  and  here,  I  thought,  truly  was  Shakspeare's 
Old  Age.  And,  I  could  also  see,  just  about  me 
there  in  the  motley  crowd  composed  as  they  were 
of  the  poet's  own  towns-people,  the  burly  magis- 
trate, the  bearded  soldier,  the  young  man,  or  it 
may  be  lover,  the  school-boy,  and  the  nursing  babe. 
It  was  altogether  like  reading  a  leaf  of  the  poet  in 
-he  same  daily  and  natural  light  in  which  it  was 
written. 

How  strange  that  after  cenluries  of  acquiescence 


22  OLD  ENGLAND. 

in  the  authorship  of  Shakspeare's  plays,  a  Yankee 
woman  should  be  the  first  to  challenge  his  claims. 
Aud  now  another  fearless  American  has  taken  up 
the  bold  assertion.  It  is  almost  like  attacking  the 
authorship  of  a  gospel.  Though  the  arguments  are 
ingenious  the  confidence  of  ages  is  not  easily  shaken. 
The  Iliad  is  believed  to  have  been  written  by  Homer 
by  the  settled  conviction  of  the  world,  founded 
on  internal  evidence  as  well  as  the  testimony  of 
history,  although  German  criticism  has  exhausted 
its  strength  to  overthrow  the  claim  of  the  unity  of 
its  authorship.  Above  all,  to  add  the  fame  of 
Shakspeare  to  that  of  Lord  Bacon,  were  to  "  pile 
Ossa  on  Pelion."  The  world  would  groan  under 
the  weight.  The  testimony  and  friendship  of  Ben 
Jonson  outweighs  the  envious  assaults  of  a  fellow- 
play-writer  on  him  whom  he  smartly  calls  "  the 
only  Shake-scene  in  a  countrey."  That  strange 
and  incomprehensible  impersonality  which  has  al- 
ways been  noticed  in  Shakspeare's  writings,  be- 
longs to  the  greatness  and  universality  of  his  mind, 
not  surely  to  the  mere  desire  to  conceal  the  author- 
ship of  the  most  wonderful  works  of  human  genius. 
If  Shakspeare  could  have  written  one  of  his  plays, 
he  could  have  written  them  all ;  and  his  very  great- 
ness seems  to  lift  him  serenely  above  doubt,  or  crit- 
icism, or  discussion.  But  this  is  not  the  time  or 
place  to  argue  this  matter.  In  what  promises  to 
be  an  exciting  passage  of  arms,  I  am  not  now  pre- 
oared  to  "  shake  a  spear.*1  Doubtless  there  will  be 
a  host  of  spears  raised  to  sustain  the  falling  heaveni 
of  Shakspeare's  bright,  immortal  fame. 


LIVERPOOL  TO  LONDON.  23 

The  next  day  after,  I  looked  from  the  window 
of  Elizabeth's  room  in  the  "Swan  Tower"  of  Ken- 
ilworth,  over  the  region  of  what  was  once  a  part  of 
the  forest  of  Arden,  the  same  region  that  gave  the 
name  to  Shakspeare's  mother,  and  where  he  laid 
the  scene  of  that  rich  June  poem,  "  As  You  Like 
It,"  —  perhaps  a  poetic  tribute  to  his  mother,  Mary 
Arden. 

At  the  Kenilworth  railway  station,  there  was 
gathered  a  rustic  bridal  party.  The  bride  wore  the 
invariable  white  ribbons  and  white  veil,  which 
English  etiquette  requires  of  brides  high  or  low. 
I  admired  the  honest  sincerity  of  the  scene,  and  the 
modest  meekness  with  which  the  bride  bore  the 
Bmiles  and  pleasant  remarks  of  all  around.  It  was 
a  half-triumphal  and  half-annoying  ordeal. 

"  1  waited  for  the  train  at  Coventry," 

and  the  "  three  tall  spires "  rising  from  the  plain 
proved  that  the  old  town  still  belonged  to  the  un- 
enchanted  present,  and  is  not  yet  spirited  away  into 
fairy  land.  One  is  more  painfully  reminded  of  this 
material  present  by  the  number  of  coarse  modern 
liquor-shops  that  spot  and  infest  this  ancient  city, 
as  well  as  all  other  English  cities  and  towns.  In 
some  smaller  places,  it  is  said  that  every  fifth 
house  is  used  for  this  purpose ;  and  by  far  the  most 
elegant  and  ornamental  shops  in  the  kingdom  are 
those  which  bear  the  staring  signs  of  "  Stout," 
"  Wine,"  "  Gin,"  "  Brandy.  '  The  light  wines  of 
France  and  the  Continent  would  be  preferable  to 
'Jie  strong  liquors  and  soddening  beers  used  univer* 


24  OLD  ENGLAKTD. 

ally  by  the  common  people  ;  but  it  is  quite  doubtful 
whether  the  English  will  adopt  these  light  wrines 
to  any  extent,  or,  what  is  better,  become  soon  an 
entirely  temperate  people.  They  will  sog  on  until 
"  Facts,"  a  more  eloquent  speaker  than  Mr.  Gough, 
converts  them.  But  intelligent  Englishmen  are 
feeling  deeply  the  force  of  these  appalling  facts  in 
regard  to  the  wide-spread  and  terrible  ravages  of 
intemperance. 

The  antique  interest  of  Coventry  lies  chiefly  in 

the  neighborhood  of  St.  Michael's  Church,  and  the 

more  venerable  St,  Mary's  Hall ;  the  first  of  these, 

.  with  its  towering  spire  of  three  hundred  and  three 

feet,  is  inferior  only  to  the  great  cathedrals.     This 

'^^spire  is  a  beautifully  shaped  octagon,  supported  by 
flying  buttresses  ;  it  pierces  the  sky  like  a  wedge. 
St.   Mary's  Hall  by  its  side  takes  us  back  to  the 

*?/*  days  of  the  feudal  "  guilds  "  and  pomps ;  and  it  is  a 
familiar  fact  that  Coventry,  even  to  this  day,  is  a 
marvelous  city  for  shows  and  pageants.  Some  of 
these,  it  is  said,  exhibit  very  odd  and  ludicrous 
mixtures  of  ancient  helmets  and  modern  beavers. 

The  story  of  "  Lady  Godiva  "  meets  you  every- 
where. It  is  repeated  in  street  statues,  in  archi' 
tectural  ornaments,  and  upon  shop  sign-boards 
But  in  these  coarse  and  grotesque  popular  illustra 
tions  of  the  story,  one  cannot  recognize  the  same 
legend  as  it  shines  in  the  hazy  amber  light  of  Ten 
nyson's  poetry,  —  the  pure  and  delicate  picture  0/ 
»er,  who,  for  the  love  she  bore  the  poor, 

"  took  the  tax  away, 
And  buii  herself  an  everlasting  name." 


P 


CHAPTER   II. 

LONDON. 

London,  on  the  first  visit,  gave  me  little  pleas- 
ure, and  I  was  glad  to  leave  it  for  the  free,  sweet, 
open  country.  It  was  overpowering.  It  was  like 
going  into  the  stifled  breath  of  a  furnace-mouth. 
Life  is  on  so  vast  a  scale,  so  terribly  real,  that  one 
has  little  opportunity  to  think  calmly,  or  play,  or,  I 
had  almost  said,  pray.  There  is  such  an  endless 
mass  of  human  life  that  a  man  grows  insignificant 
in  his  own  eyes ;  he  loses  his  individuality ;  he  is  in- 
clined to  cry,  "  I  am  a  mere  bubble  —  a  speck  —  on 
this  immense  sea  of  existence  !  I  am  worthless  and 
insignificant  in  the  eye  of  God  !  "  I  know  this 
feeling  is  foolish,  especially  to  a  genuine  Londoner, 
than  whom  no  one  enjoys  life  more  heartily.  An 
English  gentleman,  to  whom  I  expressed  some  such 
sentiment,  remarked  that  one  must  be  a  difficult 
person  to  please  if  he  could  not  live  comfortably  at 
the  West  End  of  London  !  A  second  visit,  and 
agreeable  lodgings  in  clean  and  handsome  St. 
James'  Street,  gave  me  a  far  more  cheerful  impres- 
sion of  London  life.  I  was  told  that  many  London 
families  are  in  the  habit  of  renting  their  houses 
■ir   apartments   in    +he  summer,  with  the  furniture 


*s 


26  OLD  ENGLAND. 

and  table-service,  and  of  going  abroad  to  spend  the 
warm  weather  in  travel  on  the  Continent.  Thus 
there  may  be  seen  "Lodgings  to  let"  in  the  best 
streets  of  London,  and  sometimes  on  very  fine 
houses,  reminding  one  of  Ben  Jonson's  "  Alche- 
mist,"  and  showing  how  English  fashions  do  not 
change.  To  take  lodgings  in  some  neat  and  com- 
fortable quarter  at  the  West  End,  is  by  far  the 
pleasantest  way  of  spending  a  short  time  in  Lon- 
don. 

The  tranquil,  free,  and  wide-spread  parks  of  Lon- 
don, yield  one  also  at  any  time  an  escape  from  the 
surging  current  of  life  that  rolls  through  the  streets, 
—  the  countless  trains  of  omnibuses,  carts,  car- 
riages, men,  women  and  children.  To  slip  into 
St.  James's  Park  by  the  side  of  the  dingy  old  palace, 
you  are  at  once  removed  from  the  presence  of  the 
heated  and  roaring  city,  and  enjoying  the  pure  air 
and  quiet  freshness  of  Nature.  The  sudden  con- 
trast is  the  more  refreshing. 

One  of  the  most  delightful  spots  in  London  is  the 
"  Botanic  Garden  "  in  Regent's  Park,  at  the  height 
of  the  season  of  flowers.  Here  you  may  see  gath- 
ered the  beauty  and  aristocracy  of  'the  city.  Yet 
you  cannot  but  be  struck  by  the  fact,  that  when 
crowds  of  the  best  and  noblest  London  families  are 
brought  together  in  an  afternoon  promenade  con- 
cert, few  of  these  beautiful  women  and  elegant  men 
Beem  to  be  acquainted  with  each  other.  They  are 
silent  and  unsocial.  There  appears  to  be,  to  a 
stranger,  an  icy  reserve  among  the  English  towarc 


LONDON.  27 

each  other,  which  all  summer  heats  and  the  soft 
breath  of  flowers  cannot  quite  melt.  The  London 
exhibitions  of  American  shrubs,  of  such  shrubs  as 
our  wild  azaleas  and  rhododendrons,  brought  by 
skillful  cultivation  to  great  beauty  and  size,  are 
well  worth  seeing.  Few  know  the  vast  pains  and 
expense  taken  in  England,  to  send  botanists  to 
every  part  of  the  world,  and  especially  into  new 
countries,  to  collect  every  foreign  species  of  tree, 
plant,  and  flower.  Even  as  far  back  as  two  centu- 
ries ago,  this  painful  and  costly  process  was  going 
on.  Our  American  maple-leaved  hawthorn  was 
then  introduced  into  England.  The  cedar  and 
larch  were  brought  in  a  little  earlier,  and  the  mul- 
berry in  the  reign  of  James  I.  The  native  of  every 
land  on  the  globe  may  thus  see  with  delight,  in  the 
public  gardens  of  England,  his  own  familiar  home 
plants  and  flowers,  and  scent  the  breath  as  it  were 
of  his  own  hills  and  plains. 

The  literary  man,  too,  finds  London  his  paradise. 
The  cosy  book-shops  about  St.  Paul's  Churchyard, 
and  other  snug  grazing  fields,  are  places  too  tempt- 
ing for  any  but  literary  nabobs,  or  for  that  insa- 
tiable hunter  of  books,  Dr.  Cogswell,  to  revel  in. 
Every  thing  golden  in  antique  or  modern  let- 
ters drops  at  last  into  these  half-hidden  but  pro- 
found treasure-houses.  When  I  was  in  London, 
many  of  Mr.  Mitford's  most  precious  books,  with 
bis  neatly  written  and  valuable  marginal  notes, 
tould  be  purchased.  Those  russet-covered  vol- 
umes haunt  the  imagination,  long  after  the  poor  lit- 


28  OLD  ENGLAND. 

*>rary  epicure  has  come  back  to  his  small  study  and 
slender  oat-meal.  Mr.  Mittord's  books  sold  very 
cheap.  A  Scaliger  copy  of  a  valuable  Greek  au- 
thor, rich  in  historic  annotations,  was  bought  for 
£  1  Is.  An  Aldine  Catullus,  with  four  hundred 
notes  by  Professor  Porson,  was  purchased  for 
£3  6s. 

As  a  central  point  to  see  London,  half  an  hour 
Bpent  on  one  of  the  bridges  will  enable  a  person  tc 
impress  some  feeble  picture  of  the  mighty  city  on 
his  mind,  and  to  take  a  sweep  up  and  down  the 
almost  unimaginable  extent  of  London.  Words- 
worth's  sonnet  on  Westminster  Bridge  at  morning, 
showed  that  he  had  a  human  heart,  which  some 
have  denied  him : 

"Earth  hath  not  arry  thing  more  fair; 
Dull  would  he  be  of  soul  who  could  pass  by 
A  sight  so  touching  in  its  majesty. 
The  city  now  doth  like  a  garment  wear 
The  beauty  of  the  morning;  silent,  bare, 
Ships,  towers,  domes,  theatres,  and  temples  lie, 
Open  unto  the  fields  and  to  the  sky, 
All  bright  and  glittering  in  the  smokeless  air. 
Never  did  sun  more  beautifully  steep 
In  his  first  splendor,  valley,  rock,  and  hill ; 
Ne'er  saw  I,  never  felt  a  calm  so  deep  ! 
Dear  God!  the  very  houses  seem  asleep; 
And  all  that  mighty  heart  is  lying  still !  " 

The  poet  was  fortunate  to  see  the  city  in  this 
smokeless  air."  A  London  fog;  has  often  been 
described,  but  rarely  exaggerated.  That  yellow 
gloom,  that  "  darkness  that  could  be  felt,"  rolling 
into  the  innermost  chamber  oc  the  house,  and  cast- 
ing a  haze  about  the  friend  wno  sits  in  the  opposite 


LONDON.  29 

corner,  can  hardly  be  overdrawn.  And  yet  three 
miles  from  the  city,  at  the  same  point  of  time,  it 
may  be  bright  and  clear.  Another  thought  of 
quite  justifiable  pride  cannot  but  occur  to  an  Amer- 
ican looking  at  the  river  Thames,  and  that  is,  the 
vast  superiority  of  New  York  to  London  in  its  site 
as  a  commercial  metropolis.  The  Thames  toward 
its  mouth  is  a  broad  river  it  is  true,  but  how  won- 
derful is  the  harbor  of  New  York,  with  two  deep 
arms  of  the  sea  on  either  side,  and  the  magnificent 
bay  spreading  out  in  front ! 

There  is  a  great  source  of  historic  fact  and  in- 
terest not  always  explored  in  the  London  churches. 
Take,  for  instance,  St.  Giles'  Church,  Cripplegate  ; 
this  is  in  an  out-of-the-way  corner  of  the  old  city, 
near  Grub  Street,  where  poor  authors  once  starved. 
In  this  church  is  the  tomb  of  Milton.  There  is  a 
marble  bust  of  him  over  the  spot  where  he  was 
buried.  It  represents  his  face  in  old  age,  meagre 
and  deeply  lined,  like  his  picture  in  Pickering's 
edition  of  Milton's  Works.  Here  also  is  the  tomb 
of  Fox,  the  martyrologist.  There  is  an  inscription 
in  this  church  upon  the  monument  of  a  young  noble 
lady,  that  was  so  simple  and  beautiful  that  I  copied 
it.  "  Here  lies  Margaret  Lucy,  the  second  daugh- 
ter of  Sr.  Thomas  Lucy  of  Charelcote,  in  the 
county  of  Warwick,  Knight,  (the  third  by  immedi- 
ate descent  of  ye  name  of  Thomas),  by  Alice  sole 
daughter  and  heire  of  Thomas  Spencer,  of  Clareden. 
in  the  same  county,  Esqr.  and  Custos  Brevium  of 
the  Courte  of  Comon  Pleas  at  Westminster,  who 
departed  this  life  the  18th  day  of  November  1G34, 


30  OLD   ENGLAND. 

and  aboute  the  19th  yeare  of  her  age  ;  for  discretion 
and  sweetnesse  of  conversation  not  many  excelled 
and  for   pietie   and   patience  in   her   sicknesse  and 
death  few  equalled  her  ;  which  is  the  comforte  of 
her  neerest  friendes,  to  every  one  of  whom  she  was 
very  deare,  but  especialie  to  her  old  grandmother, 
the  Lady  Constance  Lucy,  under  whose  government 
shee  died  ;  who  having  exspected  every  day  to  have 
gone  before  her,  doth  now  trust  by  faith,  and  hope 
in  the  precious  bloode  of  Christ  Jesus,  shortly  to 
follow  after,  and  be  partaker  with  her  and  others, 
of  the  unspeakable  and  eternal  joyes  in  his  blessed 
•  kingdom  ;  to  whom  be  all  honor  laude  and  praise, 
now  and  ever,  Amen." 

In  the  yard  of  the  same  old  half- hidden  black 
brick  church,  is  to  be  seen  a  bastion  of  the  Roman 
wall.  The  obliging  and  intelligent  sexton  of  "  St. 
Giles,"  was  the  only  official  that  I  remember  in 
England  who  refused  a  fee.  "  St.  Pancras  in  the 
Fields"  was  the  last  church  in  England  whose  bell 
runo-  for  mass.  On  the  register  of  "  St.  Martin's 
kn  the  Fields,"  Lord  Bacon's  baptism  is  recorded. 
In  one  of  these  old  London  churches,  Cromwell 
was  married.  Miles  Coverdale  was  buried  in  "  St. 
Bartholomew's."  "  Shoreditch  Church  "  was  built 
where  popular  tradition  made  it  out  that  Jane 
Shore  died  in  a  ditch  from  starvation.  What  is 
now  "  Finsbury  Circus  "  was  then  about  the  limit 
of  the  city  in  that  direction. 

All  English  history,  law,  literature,  religion,  have 
met  in  London,  and  have  radiated  from  London 
as  from  a  common  centre. 


LONDON.  31 

The  following  places  may  be  mentioned  as  a 
very  few  such  points  in  London,  which  have  been 
made  illustrious  by  the  presence  of  great  men 
and  events.  In  the  neighborhood  of  the  Islington 
suburb,  was  the  scene  of  Suetonius'  victory  over 
Boadicea,  in  which  80,000  Britons  were  slain. 
Where  "  Barclay's  Brewery  "  in  Southwark  stands, 
the  "  Globe  Theatre  "  stood,  and  Master  William 
Shakspeare  played  his  own  dramas  and  "  suited  the 
action  to  the  word."  At  this  spot  also  General 
Haynau  was  well  drubbed  by  t*he  sturdy  brewers. 
In  Bethnall  Green,  still  live  the  descendants  of  the 
French  silk-weavers  who  fled  to  England  after  the 
massacre  of  St.  Bartholomew.  Milton's  father  re- 
sided in  Bread  Street,  Cheapside;  and  in  this  street 
the  poet  was  born.  He  was  a  true  Cockney  born 
within  the  "  sound  of  Bow  Bells."  The  same 
"  Cheapside  "  it  is,  whose  stones  did  rattle  with  the 
"chaise  and  four,"  and  the  precious  burden  of — 

"  My  sister  and  my  sister's  child, 
Myself  and  children  three." 

At  Cheapside,  Tyndale's  English  translation  of  the 
Bible  was  burned  in  1526.  Goldsmith  died  at  No. 
2  Brick  Court  Temple.  Benjamin  Franklin  lived 
at  No.  7  Craven  Street,  Strand.  Handel  lived  in 
Piccadilly.  In  King  Street,  Edmund  Spenser  died 
for  "  lack  of  bread."  Here  also  Louis  Napoleon 
lived  when  he  acted  policeman ;  and  rumor  says, 
he  believed  it  to  be  his  destiny  to  die  at  Cheap- 
side.  Lord  Byron  was  born  in  a  boarding-house  on 
Cavendish  Square.    Samuel  Rogers'  house  was  No. 


E2  OLD  ENGLAND. 


22  St.  Jaaies's  Place.  William  Turner  was  born  in 
1775  at  26  Maiden  Lane,  near  Covent  Garden. 
In  the  Inns  of  Temple  Court,  the  memories  of 
Goldsmith,  Johnson,  Mansfield,  Eldon,  are  still 
fresh.  In  Whitehall  Chapel  one  sees  the  window 
out  of  which  Charles  I.  stepped  to  his  execution. 
In  the  centre  of  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields,  Lord  William 
Russell  was  beheaded.  Every  one  knows  of  that 
vast  cemetery  of  Bunhill  Fields  near  Finsbury 
Square,  where  the  best  genius  and  piety  of  the 
old  dissenters  found  rest  from  their  labors. 

In  Smithfield  Market  the  martyrs  of  the  Marian 
persecution  were  burned,  and  William  Wallace  was 
beheaded.  Here  also  King  Richard  III.  had  his 
encounter  with  Wat  Tyler.  Would  one  ask  for 
the  burial-place  of  Cromwell  ?  His  body  was  dis- 
interred and  burned  under  Tyburn  gallows,  in  that 
part  of  London  which  is  now  called  "  Tyburnia," 
one  of  the  most  crowded  thoroughfares  of  the  city. 
On  Temple  Bar,  which  must  soon  come  down  like 
a  rock  in  the  middle  of  a  busy  river,  the  heads  of 
traitors  were  hung.  At  Guildhall  one  may  still 
see  "  Gog  and  Magog  "  in  all  their  bearded  majesty, 
in  spite  of  Mr.  Punch.  One  of  the  most  intensely 
interesting  places  in  London  is  Christ's  Hospital, 
founded  by  pious  Edward  VI.  for  fatherless  children 
and  foundlings.  This  is  the  famous  "  Blue  Coat 
School."  I  was  told  that  there  were  eight  hundred 
now  belonging  to  the  school.  Here  Stillingfleet 
Richardson,  Lamb,  Leigh  Hunt,  and  "  the  inspirea 
charity  boy,"  Coleridge,  went  to  school.    A  frisk* 


LONDON.  33 

nerd  of  boys  just  let  out  careered  through  the  yard 
m  front  of  the  hall  bare-headed,  many  of  them 
ivith  their  long  blue  coats  tied  up  around  them  in 
A'ont,  and  their  spindle  shanks  and  yellow  stocking; 
making  a  great  display. 

I  visited  a  spot  where  the  memory  of  one  "  gentle 
spirit  still  lingers,  and  makes  the  most  unromantb 
place  in  the  world  attractive.  Set  down  in  front 
of  a  sombre  row  of  columns,  and  a  low  dingy  pile 
of  buildings,  one  could  hardly  conceive  that  this 
was  the  seat  of  that  company  of  merchants  who 
once  ruled  a  vast  empire  with  absolute  sway,  —  the 
East  India  House  in  Leadenhall  Street.  An  apart- 
ment up  one  flight  of  stairs  toward  the  back  of  the 
building,  was  where  Charles  Lamb  used  to  write. 
There  I  was  introduced  to  a  courteous  white-haired 
gentleman,  who  told  me  (though  I  know  nothing 
more  of  him)  that  he  was  a  fellow-clerk  with  Lamb, 
and  occupied  the  next  desk  to  his.  He  showed  the 
place  where  Lamb's  desk  stood,  under  a  window 
which  looked  out  on  the  blank  brick  wall  of  a  house. 
He  spoke  of  him  whom  he  was  proud  to  call  a  friend, 
with  enthusiasm.  He  said  he  was  the  best-hearted 
man  in  the  world.  Sometimes  he  would  say  to  him, 
"  Now  you,  who  live  in  the  country,  go  and  spend 
a  day  at  home  with  your  family,  and  I  will  take 
rare  of  your  books."  He  had  tremendous  fits  of 
work,  and  would  accomplish  three  men's  tasks  in  a 
lay.  At  other  times  he  would  keep  them  all  merry 
with  his  stories,  and  fill  his  pages  with  the  oddest 
scrawls  and  etchings.     This  called  to  mind  Lamb'a 

3 


34  OLD  ENGLAND. 

boyish  delight,  which  he  speaks  of  in  one  of  hii 
letters,  when  he  had  learned  to  make  "  flourishes' 
and  (poor  Elia)  "  corkscrews,  the  best  he  ever 
drew."  Among  other  pleasant  things  and  sayings 
which  this  old  gentleman  related,  I  recall  but  this : 
"  One  day  a  wealthy  London  merchant  was  ushered 
into  the  room,  and  introduced  to  Lamb  as  4  Mr 
So-and-So,  a  distinguished  spice  merchant.'  '  Oh 
yes,'  said  Lamb,  quick  as  lightning,  '  I  'm  happy 
to  see  you,  sir  ;  I  smelt  you  coming.' " 

The  India  House  Library  forms  a  rich  and  splen- 
did collection  of  some  24,000  Oriental  works,  8000 
of  these  being  still  in  manuscript.  Among  them 
is  the  famous  "  Koran,"  copied  on  vellum  by  the 
Caliph  Oth man  III.  A.  D.  655. 

Let  us  now  turn  to  quite  another  theme  and 
quarter  of  the  city,  and  glance  at  the  English 
"  House  of  Commons." 

Ascending  the  noble  staircase  leading  up  from 
old  "  Westminster  Hall,"  one  passes  into  an  ave- 
nue or  corridor,  connecting  with  the  new  "  Houses 
of  Parliament."  This  superb  avenue  is  called  "  St. 
Stephen's  Hall."  Along  its  sides  are  ranged  full- 
length  statues  of  Hampden,  Falkland,  Selden, 
Chatham,  Burke,  Pitt,  Fox,  and  others  of  tli6 
great  Commoners  of  England.  This  hall  leads 
into  a  vestibule  highly  decorated  and  gilded,  by 
which  one  enters  immediately  into  the  "  House  of 
Commons  "  on  the  one  side,  and  the  "  House  of 
Lords  "  on  the  other.  Let  us  enter  the  House  of 
Commons.     We  go  up  a  flight  of  stairs,  and  sea' 


LONDON.  36 

Durselves  in  what  is  named  the  "  Reporters'  Gal- 
lery." Opposite  us  are  the  reporters'  desks,  at 
which  you  see  anxious-looking  men  seated,  who, 
after  writing  a  little  time  with  intense  application, 
get  up  and  go  out,  being  relieved  of  their  severe 
toil  by  others.  The  House  of  Commons  is  almost 
as  gorgeous  as  wrought  gold,  fine  brass,  oak-wood 
carving,  rich  frescoes,  and  stained-glass  windows 
can  make  it.  I  say  "  almost,"  for  the  House  of 
Lords,  though  of  the  same  general  architectural 
character,  is  still  more  elaborate  in  its  finish  and 
ornament.     It  blazes  in  crimson  and  gold. 

After  having  looked  around  and  above,  and 
Bated  our  eyes  with  richness,  and  studied  out  the 
Tudor  rose  and  portcullis  ornaments,  and  other 
historic  emblems,  then  look  down  and  see  what 
this  magnificent  house  of  the  gods  contains.  Are 
they  gods  or  men  ?  They  are  truly  but  men  ;  and 
they  are  men  who  all  have  their  hats  on  as  at  a 
Quaker  meeting.  But  it  is  no  Quaker  meeting , 
for  the  spirit  of  heavenly  repose  which  broods  over 
the  assemblies  of  the  saints,  is  not  surely  here. 
There  is  an  anxious,  angry,  almost  fierce  spirit  of 
debate  and  conflict.  The  only  unexcited  counte- 
nance is  that  of  the  Speaker,  who,  profoundly 
buried  in  his  big  gray  wig,  sits  imperturbable  as  a 
machine,  or  rises  at  long  intervals  to  put  a  vote  in 
the  shortest  and  driest  manner. 

It  is  odd  to  see  the  quiet,  matter-of-fact  way  in 
which  vast  money-bills  are  voted  upon  and  disposed 
*f  in    the    English   Parliament.     I   heard   money 


36  OLD  ENGLAND. 

enough  to  set  up  a  small  government  appropriated 
in  about  five  minutes,  all  the  members  voting  in 
favor  of  it,  though  there  had  been  a  protracted  and 
violent  debate  upon  it,  in  which  it  seemed  as  if  the 
tottering  government  must  give   way.      The  real 
business  goes  on  by  machinery.     Discussion  is  like 
a  dance  on  the  mill-floor  while  the  great  wheel  goes 
steadily  round.     The  cold,  firm  will  of  the  govern- 
ing class,  sovereign  in  the  House  of  Commons  as  in 
the  House  of  Lords,  allowing  little  possibility  of  pop- 
ular interference,  manages  every  thing  in  its  own 
way.     A  long,  green  table  stands  in  the  centre  of 
the  room,  at  one  end  of  which  two  bewigged  clerks 
are  seated,  and  at  the  other  end  hangs  the  ponder- 
ous   "  mace."       The    Government    party    occupy 
seats  on  one  side  of  this  table,  and  the  Opposition 
on  the  other. 

There  is  an  impression  now  prevailing  in  Eng- 
land, that  the  business  of  the  nation  has  become  so 
gigantic  and  complicated  that  Parliament  is  really 
not  equal  to  its  transaction.  I  have  certainly 
rarely  seen  a  more  Wearied  and  fagged-out  set  of 
men  than  the  Government  bench  at  that  time  pre- 
sented. The  brilliant  gas-light  streamed  down  on 
care-worn,  haggard  faces.  They  were  then,  it  is 
true,  in  a  state  of  siege,  and  brought  by  a  powerful 
and  unrelenting  opposition  into  the  most  desperate 
condition.  Lord  Palmerston,  however,  carried  a 
bold  air.  In  the  broad  and  racy  expression  of  his 
face  he  looked  the  born  Irishman.  He  seemed  to 
ftave   the  elasticity   of  immortal   youth.      It   was 


LONDON.  37 

highly  interesting  to  hear  this  inimitable  veteran 
debater  roll  off  his  easy  and  stereotyped  phrases  of 
defense,  now  rising  into  stately  rhetoric,  now  get- 
ting up  an  immense  indignation,  now  casting  him- 
self back  on  his  official  dignity,  and  now  darting  a 
fatal  thrust  of  mingled  ridicule  and  power  into  the 
weak  place  of  his  opponent's  harness.  His  vener- 
able compeer,  Lord  John  Russell,  had  a  pompous 
way  of  speaking  for  a  small  man,  but  was  ingen- 
ious in  gliding  oilily  around  a  difficulty  ;  and  when 
he  could  not  answer  it,  had  an  imperious  wa}'  of 
trampling  it  down.  It  was  wonderful  to  see  these 
old  men  sustaining  these  severe  midnight  debates; 
for  the  sessions  of  Parliament  begin  at  five  or  six 
in  the  evening,  and  last  sometimes  until  three 
o'clock  in  the  morning. 

Confessedly  the  most  polished  and  fluent  speaker 
in  Parliament  is  Mr.  Gladstone  ;  but,  as  a  rough 
Englishman  said  to  me,  "  He  is  too  eloquent  to  be 
honest ;  "  not  that  this  is  in  any  way  true,  but  with 
English  people  too  great  facility  is  looked  upon 
with  suspicion.  I  was  fortunate  to  hear  Mr.  Bright 
speak,  although  but  briefly.  He  had  a  round,  full 
forehead,  and  a  large,  resolute  mouth,  but  the  ex- 
pression seemed  to  me  gentler  and  more  refined 
than  I  had  imagined  of  this  strong  popular  tribune. 
He  looked  like  a  good  man  —  a  man  whose  heart, 
whose  moral  nature,  predominates  over  and  sub- 
ordinates his  intellect.  You  get  just  the  reverse  of 
this  idea,  I  think,  from  the  face  of  Gladstone,  who 
is  pure  intellect,  though  he  hao  shown  that  he  po3- 


88  OLD   ENGLAND. 

sesses  a  great  heart.  Blight's  speech  was  charac- 
terized by  straightforward  plainness,  and  also  by 
singular  force  of  condensed  scholarly  expression. 
There  was  none  of  the  drawling  mannerism  of 
the  other  speakers,  but  a  marching  right  on  in 
a  free,  fresh,  direct  current  of  remark.  There 
seemed  to  me  a  consciousness  that  he  was  the 
leader  of  a  growing  power  in  the  State,  and  was 
bound  to  say  something  "  telling "  and  strong. 
He  stands  on  his  own  legs,  and  not  on  prescriptive 
reputation,  opinions,  or  policies.  He  was  at  that 
moment  the  grandest  figure,  the  foremost  man  in 
England.  He  seemed  to  me,  morally,  to  tower  im- 
measurably above  all  the  nobles  and  distinguished 
men  about  him.  He  was  indeed  a  dangerous  man. 
He  goes  rather  too  fast  for  John  Bull.  "  Still,"  as 
one  of  my  English  friends  said  to  me,  "  England 
will  and  must  have  substantial  reforms,  it  matters 
not  what  minister  may  be  in  power."  The  most 
striking-looking  man  in  the  House  of  Commons 
was  Disraeli.  I  did  not  hear  him  speak.  His  head, 
from  the  distance  where  I  sat,  appeared  not  un- 
like Rufus  Choate's,  though  of  less  massive  mould ; 
perhaps  it  was  his  saturnine  complexion  and  im- 
perturbable countenance  that  gave  me  this  impres- 
sion. His  dark  features  and  black  hair,  his  contem- 
plative and  even  sombre  expression,  singled  him  out 
among  all.  He  was  a  stranger  there.  Although  his 
spirit  may  have  been  Oriental,  and  his  eloquence 
was  often  more  brilliant  than  sound,  he  had  dared 
to  rise  above  the  dead  level  practical  standard  oJ 


LONDON.  39 

English  debate  into  a  new  world  of  ideas  and  pi'in- 
ciples,  and  to  discuss  subjects  in  a  more  comprehen- 
sive   and   philosophical  way.     The    best   speech  I 
heard  on  the  whole,  for  its  vigorous  English  and 
manly  thought,  was  from  Sir  T.  Baring.     Judge 
Haliburton    (Sam    Slick)  delivered  a  long,  gossip- 
ing discourse  with  no  particular  point.     With  no 
lack    of  point  was    Mr.  Roebuck's   attack   on  the 
Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer.     He  spoke  deliber- 
ately and  in  a  low  voice,  but  with  that  distinct 
whisper,  or  hissing  tone,   that  makes  every  word 
tell.     His  keen  shafts,  drawn  firmly  to  the  head, 
were  sent  twanging  home  with  no  reservation  of 
human    feebleness  or   pity.       Chaucer   must  havo 
written  prophetically  of  him  : 

*'  The  arwes  of  thy  crabbed  eloquence 
Shall  perce  his  crest  and  eke  his  aventayle." 

Although  seated  on  the  lower  tier  of  benches  oppo- 
site the  reporters'  desks,  it  was  some  time  before  I 
could  begin  to  understand  a  word  that  was  said. 
The  thick  articulation,  and  the  broken,  jerking  way 
of  speaking,  made  the  English  language  sound  like 
another  tongue.  Even  Lord  Palmerston  at  times 
got  floundering  and  gasping  in  a  painfully  pro- 
longed course  of  barren  "  eh-eh-eh's." 

In  the  House  of  Lords,  the  dull  and  drawling 
style  of  oratory  was  still  more  pronounced.  Lords 
Normanby,  Clanricarde,  Waters,  De  Canning, 
Brougham,  and  others  spoke.  Some  of  the 
noble  lords  actually  went  to  sleep  with  folded 
arms  beneath  their  broad-brimmed  hats.  Lord 
Brougham    had    still    the    lionlike    look    and    the 


40  OLD  ENGLAND. 

energetic  sweep  of  the  arm  ;  but  the  silver  hair, 
bent  back,  and,  above  all,  failing  voice,  told  of  the 
decay  of  physical  force.  In  the  remarks  that  he 
made  there  was  no  lack  of  mental  vigor  and 
of  downright  crushing  common  sense.  He  made 
the  impression  of  greater  genuine  oratorical  power 
than  any  other  speaker  whom  I  heard  in  England, 
though  it  was  power  on  the  wane,  and  the  old  fire 
but  faint.  Sir  Stratford  de  Canning,  who  had  done  a 
great  work  as  a  diplomatist,  wielding  the  influence 
of  England  on  the  side  of  humanity  and  Christian 
civilization,  was  certainly  no  speaker,  judging  by 
the  effort  which  I  heard.  His  place  was  not  in  the 
stirring  field  of  debate.  He  delivered  an  elaborate 
speech  that  read  remarkably  well  in  the  "  Times," 
but  he  nearly  broke  down  twice  in  doing  it. 

The  best  way  for  a  young  man  to  see  Lon- 
don is  to  take  a  good  pocket  map  of  the  city, 
which  accurately  delineates  the  principal  streets, 
squares,  and  public  places,  and  which  distinctly  » 
denotes  what  buildings  and  institutions  are  wor- 
thy of  being  visited  on  both  sides  of  every  street, 
and  then  to  see  London  by  walking.  In  this  way 
he  is  independent  of  valets  and  cabmen,  loses 
nothing  that  is  memorable,  and  gains  some,  it  may 
be  tiresome,  personal  experience  of  the  incredible 
vastness  of  the  city. 

An  American  need  not  be  reminded  to  visit 
Westminster  Abbey,  the  Tower,  St.  Paul's  Cathe- 
dral, the  National  Gallery,  and  the  British  Mu- 
seum.    His  national  instincts  will   probably   leao 


LOXPON.  41 


*••-£ 

*--*£ 


him  to  the  Bank  of  England  in  Threadneedle 
Street.  The  British  Museum  comprehends  a 
square  in  the  heart  of  London.  To  go  through  it 
is  like  walking  through  the  avenues  of  a  dead 
world.  It  is  a  pleasant  toil,  but  toil  it  certainly  is. 
By  going  day  after  day,  or  rather  week  after  week, 
it  may  be  slowly  conquered.  When  in  visiting 
Athens  I  saw  the  holes  in  the  frieze  of  the  Parthe- 
non out  of  which  the  Elgin  marbles  had  been  torn, 
it  was  with  a  feeling  of  indignation  and  sorrow ; 
but  as  one  reflects  that  it  was  by  this  means  that 
the  sculptures  were  probably  saved  from  the  de 
struction  of  war,  or  from  being  ground  into  lime  by 
the  Turks,  and  that  they  have  been  the  instrumen- 
tality of  regenerating  modern  Art,  he  is  reconciled 
to  the  change ;  and  perhaps,  hereafter,  when 
Greece  becomes  a  nation  worthy  of  the  name, 
some  "  Great  Eastern  "  will  transport  the  marbles 
back  again,  and  they  will  take  their  old  place  in 
the  entablature  of  the  temple.  In  passing  the  case 
that  contains  the  "  Codex  Alexandrinus,"  one  is 
inclined,  like  my  genial  and  accomplished  friend 
Mr.  Henry  Stevens,  the  librarian  of  the  American 
department  of  the  library  —  to  take  off'  his  hat. 
This  version,  according  to  Cyril  Lucar,  Patriarch 
")f  Alexandria,  was  copied  by  an  Egyptian  woman 
.lamed  Thecla,  in  the  fourth  century  ;  and  it  bears 
evident  marks  of  female  chirography.  Tischendorf 
and  other  modern  scholars,   however,  assign  it  tc 

he  fifth  century.     It  stands  next  in  value  after  the 
Vatican  and  Sinaitic  versions.     It  was  a  gift  froiu 

iyril  to  Charles  I.,  in  1629. 


:^ 


n 


CHAPTER  III. 

LONDON. 

Art  in  London  has  been  derided  by  those 
who  live  on  the  Continent,  and  nothing  beauti- 
ful is  thought  capable  of  blossoming  in  that  foggy 
atmosphere.  It  is  true  that  Nelson's  monument 
in  Trafalgar  Square  does  not  permit  Nelson  to 
be  seen ;  and  Wellington's  statue  at  Hyde  Park 
is  the  ideal  of  military  "  old  fogyism ;  "  and  all 
the  "  pleasant  singers  "  are  Italians ;  and  many 
of  the  metropolitan  sculptors  and  builders  have 
foreign  names  ;  yet,  in  spite  of  all,  London  is  one 
of  the  world's  art-centres.  It  would  be  too  great 
a  task  to  discuss  English  Art  as  developed  in  the 
numberless  schools,  galleries,  and  expositions  of 
London.  Between  three  and  four  thousand  new 
pictures  are  annually  on  exhibition.  Who  can  say 
that  English  Art  is  doing  nothing  ?  Perhaps  no- 
where in  the  world  is  there  so  much  done,  to 
judge  by  the  quantity,  and  in  some  respects  the 
quality,  of  the  fruits.  There  has  been  an  impor- 
tant revolution  in  English  Art,  as  every  one  knows, 
since  the  days  of  Reynolds,  Wilson,  Romney,  and 
Grainsborough.     In  some  respects  it  has  lost,  bu, 


LONDON.  43 

in  others  gained,  power.  The  trials  of  Wilkie, 
the  agonies  of  Haydon,  and  above  all  the  eccentric 
but  inspired  studies  of  Turner,  have  produced  de- 
cided changes.  English  Art  has  gained  in  natural 
vigor,  and  in  truthfulness  of  drawing  and  detail, 
what  it  has  lost  in  ideal  power.  It  is  a  good  thing 
to  go  back  to  Nature,  and  copy  even  her  stones 
correctly  ;  this  lays  a  foundation  for  genius  to  build 
upon.  Pre-Raphaelitism  has  already  given  over 
its  minute  realness,  and  has  begun  to  clothe  its 
leanness  with  the  beauty  of  life  and  of  higher 
truth.  It  has  done  good ;  but  it  has  not  proved 
that  those  things  which  God  has  made  small  and 
earthly  are  as  beautiful  as  those  he  has  made 
great  and  heavenly.  "  There  are  glories  terres- 
trial and  glories  celestial."  Purity  is  not  sufficient 
tor  greatness,  or  a  little  child  would  be  morally 
greater  than  a  tried  and  victorious  man.  Passion, 
ideality,  the  divine  life,  must  breathe  and  glow  in 
every  truly  great  work  of  Art.  I  am  Ruskinite 
enough  to  think  that  Turner,  in  his  best  style,  was 
as  near  an  approach  to  the  great  English  painter 
as  has  yet  been  made.  "  But  after  my  words  they 
spake  not,"  said  Job ;  and  who  wishes  to  enter 
\nto  an  elaborate  discussion  of  Turner  after  the 
Oxford  oracle  has  spoken.  Turner  did  a  great 
work,  if  it  were  only  to  have  been  the  occasion 
of  Ruskin's  marvelous  eloquence.  One  has  a  per- 
fect right,  however,  to  look,  and  see,  and  judge 
whether  he  likes  or  dislikes  Turner's  paintings. 
There  was,  M'hen  I  was  in  London,  a  fine  oppor- 


44  OLD   ENGLAND. 

tunity  to  do  this  at  the  Kensington  Museum,  popn 
larly  the  "  Boilers,"  where  there  were  three  large 
rooms  full  of  Turner's  best  and  worst  pictures, 
arranged  it  is  said  by  Mr.  Ruskin  himself.  What 
impressed  me  most  in  Turner's  greatest  pictures, 
those  which  belong  principally  to  his  second  and 
Bound  style,  was  their  imaginative  power.  In  such 
paintings  as  "  Dido  building  Carthage,"  in  the 
National  Gallery,  and  the  "  Shipwreck,"  and 
"  Ulysses  deriding  Polyphemus,"  and  "  The  Fight- 
ing Te"meraire  tugged  to  her  last  Berth  "  —  (who 
gave  these  taking  titles  ?  2)  and  "  Childe  Harold's 
Pilgrimage,"  say  what  you  will  about  their  "  light" 
and  "  atmosphere,"  their  "  depth  "  and  "  aerial 
perspective,"  it  is  the  power  that  brings  before  you 
new  things,  that  calls  them  up  from  the  pure  realm 
of  imagination,  —  it  is  this  poetic  power  that  gives 
the  charm  to  these  pictures.  They  awake  the 
sense  of  the  infinite  that  a  great  poem  does.  They 
take  down  the  bars  and  let  you  into  the  green 
fields  of  joy  and  freedom.  One  has  the  feeling  — 
(always  a  delightful  one)  —  that  the  author  of 
these  pictures  could  do  any  thing  he  wished,  could 
build  a  Carthage  or  a  Rome. 

As  I  was  looking  at  one  of  those  sublime  scrawls 
before  which  the  real  votary  of  Turner  is  drunk 
with  frenzy,  a  plain  farmer's  wife  came  in  and  read 

1  Since  writing  the  above  I  have  seen  it  expressly  stated  u? 
I  jornbury's  biography  of  Turner,  that  the  name  of  "  The  Fightinf 
T£ine>aire,"  and  the  names  of  others  of  his  pictures,  were  Mr.  Tur 
aer's  own  titles.  Turner  was  a  poet,  though  he  wrote  but  poor  pcetry 
3is  poems  were  his  pictures. 


LONDON.  45 

the  title,  "The  Day  after  the  Deluge."  "  Wull  I 
I  should  think  it  wur  ! ''  was  the  only  remark  she 
made ;  and  then  she  walked  through  the  room 
without  noticing  another  picture. 

That  there  is  any  thing  in  these  later  fantasies 
of  Turner's  brain  which  appeals  to  the  universal 
understanding  and  common  sentiment  of  beauty, 
I  cannot  suppose  ;  though,  for  expressing  this  opin- 
ion, an  Englishman  almost  told  me  that  there  was 
a  want  of  appreciation  in  myself.  And  he  added, 
moreover,  that  these  last  pictures  of  Turner  com- 
manded better  prices  than  his  earlier  ones.  I 
pitied  him  as  too  far  gone  to  be  saved.  Looked 
at  as  unfinished  sketches,  or  dashing  experiments 
in  color,  or  studies  of  the  concentration  of  light, 
they  are  artistically  interesting,  and  some  of  them 
have  a  confused  grandeur,  as  the  sketches  of  "  A 
Fire  at  Sea,"  and  "  The  Deluge."  But  to  call 
the  "  Angel  standing  in  the  Sun,"  and  "  Rain, 
Steam,  and  Speed,"  and  "  Hannibal  crossing  the 
Alps,"  and  the  various  spotty  reflexes  of  "  Venice," 
true  pictures  of  Nature,  or  of  a  healthy  imagina- 
tion, this  were  like  calling  Carlyle's  worst  style  A.©*3 
pure  English.  They,  have  no  regard  to  form  or 
fact.  They  are  but  dashes,  streaks  of  pigment. 
Take  the  picture  called  "  Tapping  the  Furnace ;  " 
there  is  no  furnace,  nor  bell,  nor  workshop,  nor 
any  thing  that  particularizes  such  a  scene,  but  it 
is  a  universal  explosion  of  high  colors.  Yet  before 
Turner's  finished  pictures,  radiant  with  truthful 
%plendors,  full  of  the  movement  of  life,  boldly  fol« 


46  OLD   ENGLAND. 

lowing  Nature  and  catching  her  deepest  expres- 
sions, honestly  regardful  of  fact,  painting,  as  he 
gruffly  declared,  "  his  clouds  from  the  clouds  in  the 
Bky  —  how  else  would  you  paint  them  ?  "  —  but 
despising  the  minute  and  the  dull,  we  may  rever- 
ently bow.  His  coloring,  as  well  as  drawing,  is 
inspired  by  one  living  impulse ;  that  is,  it  is  paint- 
ed from  the  momentary  pregnant  suggestion,  and, 
as  it  were,  flash  of  Nature.  This  shows  the  great 
painter  whose  coloring  is  not  the  result  of  elaborate 
work  in  the  study,  but  the  inspiration  of  living 
truth.  We  had  rather  see  mistakes  in  such  great 
and  original  pictures,  than  the  most  careful  per- 
fection of  execution  in  common  works. 

"Landscape    painting,"  De   Quincey  said,    "is 
the  peculiar  product    of  Christianity  ;  "  and    it  is 
certain  that  the   most  Christian  nation  delights  in 
landscape  painting.     The  walls  of  its  galleries  are 
not    hunn-   with    huge    historic    scenes   and   battle 
pieces,  as  those  of  France  ;  or  with  ideal  paintings 
of  heathen  poetry  and  religion,  as  of  Italy;  but 
with    tranquil  views  of  beautiful  English   nature, 
lio-hted  by  some  simple  sentiment   or  home  affec- 
tion.    The  historical  style  is  .having  its  commence- 
ment  in    England.       Such    powerful    painters   as 
Maclise  and  Ward,  prove   that  England  need  go 
no  more  to  the  Rubenses  and  Van  Dycks  of  other 
countries  to  illuminate  her  story.     But  let  a  man 
wander   over    England,   walk   from   one   northern 
lake  to  another  through  the  whole  string  of  pearls 
slunb  the  mountains  of  Wales,  explore  the  loneW 


LONDON.  47 

coves  and  rocks  of  Cornwall,  roam  through  the 
cerny  combes  of  Devonshire,  and  over  the  smooth 
downs  of  Kent  and  Surrey,  sit  in  thatched  cot- 
tages, linger  in  the  solemn  shades  of  old  cathedral 
towns,  and  then  let  him  go  into  the  Fall  Exhibi- 
tions of  Art  in  London,  and  he  will  see  it  all  over 
again,  and  will  almost  know  the  very  rocks  and 
meadows,  houses  and  hay-ricks,  in  the  pictures. 
He  must  have  dined  with  more  than  one  of  those 
artists,  an  angel  unawares.  One  is  willing  to  say, 
"  Let  High  Art  go  to  the  sepulchres  of  Ossian's 
heroes  !  "  when  enjoying  these  delightful  pictures 
of  Nature,  that  draw  the  thorn  from  the  careworn 
mind.  And  if  one  wishes  for  power,  vastness, 
agitation,  terror,  he  has  it  in  the  sea  and  storm 
pieces,  that  no  artist  loves  more,  or  has  a  better 
opportunity  to  delineate,  than  he  who  lives  in  an 
island  which  is  the  home  of  tempests,  and  on 
whose  thousand  bold  headlands  the  ocean  perpet- 
ually thunders.  Turner  painted  a  snow-storm  off 
ihe  coast  of  England,  in  which  his  own  life  waa 
imperilled. 

English  Art  did  at  one  period,  as  every  one 
knows,  run  much  into  the  representation  of  pure 
animal  life.  Animal  life  has  been  strangely  lifted 
into  the  sphere  of  sentiment  and  poetry.  We  do 
not  see  merely  Paul  Potter's  bellowing  "  bull 
and  cows,"  but  we  see  a  reflex  of  human  traits, 
vhetber  noble  or  mean,  in  the  rough  faces  and 
mute  actions  of  the  creatures  made  for  man.  It 
6  a  finj  Christian  recognition  of  the  hidden  links 


18  OLD  ENGLAND. 

of  being,  and  of  the  love  of  God  in  his  plan  of 
creation.  Yet  this  idea  may  be  overstrained,  as 
in  Landseer's  picture  of  a  "  Highland  Deluge,' 
exhibited  in  the  "  Royal  Academy."  A  dying 
cow  is  made  the  heroine  of  that  tragedy,  of  which 
a  whole  Highland  family  are  but  subordinate  feat- 
ures. Our  pity  is  turned  into  contempt,  on  the 
principle  of  Jonathan  Edwards'  definition  of  vir- 
tue, —  that  it  is  "  love  to  being  in  general,"  but 
graduated  in  strict  accordance  to  its  standard  of 
worth.  We  are  inclined  to  give  the  palm  to 
Rosa  Bonheur  over  Edwin  Landseer.  The  last 
paints  wonderful  pictures,  the  first  living  animals. 
"We  heartily  believe  the  story  that  Rosa  Bonheur 
lives  with  her  animals,  and  does  not  shun  the 
reeking  shambles  and  abattoirs,  to  study  the  psy- 
chology of  her  dumb  favorites.  She  evidently 
loves  them,  and  does  not  paint  for  money  or  rep- 
utation, but  to  express  her  affection  for  animals, 
and  to  embalm  the  memory  of  her  friends  and 
heroes. 

The  American  will  be  glad  to  see  in  the 
'•*  British  School "  not  only  the  most  famous 
>aintings  of  West,  grand  though  cold,  but  some 
if  Gilbert  Stuart's  lifelike  portraits ;  and  many 
jf  Leslie's  works,  who,  born  in  England,  was  of 
American  parentage,  and  resided  for  a  time  in 
America.  He  was,  moreover,  a  student  of  Wash- 
vngton  Allston's.  There  is  clearness  and  bright- 
ness in  his  coloring,  and  an  air  of  sunny  lift 
about    his   pictures.     He    is  not   a   great   painter 


LONDON.  49 

but  no  one  has  caught  the  airy  spirit  of  Shak- 
speare's  comedy  and  Cervantes'  humor  better  than 
he.  "  Don  Quixote  reproving  the  Ecclesiastic," 
in  the  British  Institution,  is  not  a  coarse  carica- 
ture of  the  brave  knight,  but  it  revels  in  the  ludi- 
crous points  and  contrasts  of  the  scene,  the  flaming 
indignation  of  the  demented  hero,  the  red-hot, 
roaring,  stamping  rage  of  the  fat  priest,  the  Duke 
holding  a  hard  battle  between  mirth  and  Castilian 
dignity,  the  beautiful  Duchess  really  more  inter- 
ested for  the  Don  than  struck  with  the  comical 
aspect  of  things,  and  the  unconquerable  gravity 
of  the  Spanish  attendants.  The  illustrious  Gov- 
ernor of  Barataria,  last  but  not  least,  lives  again 
in  Leslie's  paintings.  Still  it  must  be  said  that 
Leslie  did  not  work  a  deep  vein. 

The  "  Bridgewater  Collection  "  is  rich  in  Italian 
and  Flemish  pictures.  Three  exquisite  Raphaels 
would  seem  to  be  enough  for  one  collection.  The 
masterpiece  of  Gerard  Dow  is  there.  There  are 
also  two  powerful  landscapes  by  Riohard  Wilson. 

To  England  belongs  the  glory  of  painting  in 
water-colors.  It  may  be  called  an  English  art. 
Turner  himself  was  one  of  its  originators,  or 
rather  reformers.  He  introduced  the  new  system 
of  employing  local  tints,  and  of  shading  each 
object  with  its  own  tint,  instead  of  laying  on  first 

formal  groundwork  of  India  ink,  or  some  neu- 
tral monotone,  and  tinting  it  afterward.  The 
present  system  lends  freedom  and  brilliancy  to  the 
painting.     It  is  like  genuine  oil  painting.     Colon 


60  OLD  ENGLAND. 

Rre  intermingled  as  in  Nature,  and  there  is  a  pecu- 
liar transparency  and  vividness  that  oil-colors  do 
not  give. 

I  do  not  know  a  more  refreshing  and  pleasing 
place  to  spend  an  hour,  than  an  Exhibition  of 
English  Water-color  paintings.  Every  hue  of 
water,  earth,  and  sky  is  flung  around.  Fancy 
plays  endless  freaks.  The  subjects  are  as  various 
as  the  expressions  and  wantonness  of  Nature. 

The  delicate  fineness  of  Birket  Foster's  land- 
scapes equals  the  exquisiteness  of  a  camerd  ob- 
scurd.  Almost  every  individual  flower  and  grass- 
spire  upon  a  natural  bank  or  meadow,  flourishes 
in  his  little  cabinet  pieces.  There  is  a  gem-like 
light  on  them.  This  kind  of  painting  is  better 
fitted  for  landscapes  than  for  genre  pictures.  And 
one  is  surprised  to  see  the  boldness  and  power 
often  thrown  into  these  small  paintings.  The 
gloomy  "  Pass  of  Glencoe ':  with  its  frowning 
walls  of  misty  mountains,  or  a  deep  black  Welsh 
tarn,  or  broken  coast  scenery,  or  the  ocean  torn 
by  a  winter  tempest,  are  scenes  that  these  artists 
do  not  shrink  from.  But  to  catch  the  bright 
sparkle  of  English  summer  fields,  or  the  green  and 
golden  gleam  of  an  autumn  corn-field,  or  to  invade 
the  cool  home  of  the  shy  lilies,  or  to  paint  a  pink- 
cheeked  Dutch  family  of  squat  mushrooms  and  a 
group  of  blue-bells  and  buttercups,  or  to  give  a 
gleam  of  the  portentous  harvest  moon  silvering  an 
old  castle  with  a  broad-winged  bird  of  night  flying 
athwart  its  face,  is  more  to  the  taste  j£  then* 
bright-fancied  playful  artists. 


LONDON.  51 

Holman  Hunt's  picture  of  the  "  Finding  of 
Christ  in  the  Temple,"  has  created  much  contro- 
versy. Though  learned  and  marvelously  elab- 
orate, it  will  not  establish  the  superiority  of  the 
Pre-Raphaelite  school  in  the  higher  elements  of 
the  art.  It  wants  unity  and  elevation.  I  have 
S3en  just  such  dull,  blear-eyed  Rabbis  in  Jerusa- 
lem, representing  the  utmost  fall  and  degradation 
of  modern  Judaism,  but  certainly  not  representing 
the  proud  and  philosophic  princes  of  the  old  Jewish 
hierarchy  of  our  Lord's  time.  The  Saviour  is  rep- 
resented as  a  youth  of  genius,  with  blue  Saxon 
eyes  and  bright  auburn  hair  ;  there  is  nothing  Ori- 
ental, or  what  is  infinitely  more,  Divine,  in  his  face. 
But  I  will  say  no  more  of  Art  here,  for  it  is  a 
subject  upon  which  every  one  thinks  that  he  knows 
more  than  others,  and  therefore  is  disposed  to  treat 
what  others  say  with  contempt. 

In  the  London  season,  when  "  Rotten  Row," 
and  its  parallel  rides  and  drives  are  in  their 
glory,  and  the  splendid  horses  and  equipages  dart 
to  and  fro  along  the  famous  avenues  of  Hyde 
Park,  this  is  a  sight  to  be  enjoyed  even  by  the 
quiet  pedestrian.  English  horses  —  the  picked 
ones —  have  been  carried  to  a  poetic  ideal  of  per- 
fection. They  are  like  the  horses  of  Phidias,  all 
fire  and  spirit.  I  would  not  derogate  from  a  gen- 
erous and  manly  taste  (for  all  conquering  nations 
have  been  lovers  of  horses),  but  in  the  rearing 
and  training  of  horses,  and  in  the  manner  in  which 
horses,  dogs,  aud  fowls  are  lodged  and  cared  for  in 

ft 


52  OLD   ENGLAND. 

England,  and  the  manner  in  which  men,  women, 
and  children  are  often  forced  to  burrow  together 
in  the  centres  of  population  and  the  large  manu- 
facturing towns,  there  is  often  a  sad  contrast 
which  calls  up  the  Greek  saying,  'o  0eos  ov  <£i'Ai7r~o; 
oci<3e  <j>i\opi>is,  'uAAa  (juXdvOpo-n-u^.  The  poor  as  well  as 
the  rich  get  the  benefit  of  these  great  open  breath- 
ing places  of  green  fields  in  which  London  —  it  is 
said  by  accident,  rather  than  design  —  is  so  won- 
derfully rich.  Hyde  Park  (or,  as  the  'bus  drivers 
cry,  "  Ide  Pork  ")  and  Kensington  Gardens,  with 
their  broad  oaks,  and  undimmed  grass,  and  wave- 
less  waters,  in  the  months  of  May  and  June,  are 
Arcadia,  the  Hesperides,  in  the  dry  heart  of  Lon- 
don. Many  a  muscular  labor-stained  Hercules 
you  see  there  reposing  under  the  trees,  if  not 
with  the  golden  apples,  yet  with  the  bag  of  iron 
tools  of  his  trade,  in  his  hand.  In  this  pleasure- 
garden  part  of  the  city,  and  the  broad  streets 
leading  out  of  it,  there  is  still  some  chance  of 
London's  being,  architecturally  speaking,  a  hand- 
some metropolis.  It  ennobles  westward  as  almost 
all  great  cities  do. 

It  is  vain  to  compare  London  to  any  other  city. 
It  is  unique  in  its  history,  and  unique  in  its  des- 
tiny. Its  most  natural  comparison  is  with  Paris. 
But  Paris  never  can  be  London,  or  dream  of 
being.  It  is  now,  I  believe,  only  about  a  third  the 
size  of  London.  It  is  an  inland  place.  There  is 
no  special  commerce  or  trade  that  can  build  it  up, 
and  already  there  are  more  artisans  in  Paris  than 
can  be  found  work  for.     It  would  be  well  for  it  to 


LONDON.  53 

be  depleted,  instead  of  being  forced  to  an  un- 
healthy magnitude,  to  the  injury  of  other  cities  of 
France.  But  for  London  there  is  no  such  fear. 
So  long  as  it  has  the  broad  Thames  for  an  outlet, 
and  coal  for  its  steamers,  and  inexhaustible  agri- 
cultural resources  for  its  feeders,  and  the  whole 
world  for  its  commerce,  it  may  stride  on  from 
4,000,000  to  14,000,000,  and  absorb  whole  coun- 
ties, as  it  does  now  the  portions  of  four  counties. 
Its  rate  of  increase  is  far  greater  than  that  of  the 
rest  of  England.  New  York,  as  has  been  re- 
marked, has  a  finer  harbor,  but  London,  if  I  am 
not  in  error,  is  closer  to  the  centre  of  the  "  Land 
Hemisphere." 

But  the  boasted  greatness  of  London  has  been 
purchased  at  a  fearful  cost  in  human  misery. 
Physical  plethora  has  been  attended  with  fester- 
ing sores  of  moral  corruption.  It  has  been  stated 
that  one  in  six  of  those  who  die  in  this  world-city 
die  in  a  workhouse,  hospital,  or  prison.  Let  us 
hope  that  this  is  an  exaggeration,  or  that  it  be- 
longs to  the  evil  past  which  the  bells  of  the  New 
Year  will  ring  out.  I  cannot  forget  a  midnight 
walk  I  took  with  a  London  philanthropist  who 
wished  me  to  have  a  glimpse  of  the  vile  and  des- 
perate portion  of  the  city.  It  did  not  take  us 
long  to  make  it,  but  in  the  narrow  net-work  of 
streets  which  forms  one  of  the  matted  intricate 
s'.vanips  of  misery  near  the  centre,  it  seemed  to 
me,  even  in  our  hurried  passage  through  it,  that 
I  saw  faces  villainous  enough  for  any  crime.  There 
were  haggard  poverty  and   hideously  bedizened 


54  OLD   ENGLAND. 

vice  at  the  doors  and  windows.  The  police  con- 
tinually circulate  through  these  suspicious  districts, 
and  even  they  not  without  peril.  In  such  a  seeth- 
ing mass  of  wretchedness  as  this  locality  repre- 
sented, where  almost  every  person  is  a  pauper  or 
a  criminal,  the  thought  uppermost  in  the  mind  is, 
"  God  pity  the  little  children."  He  surely  does 
walk  among  them  in  the  shape  of  men  and  wo- 
men who  do  his  work  of  mercy.  Christian  wo- 
men, armed  with  nothing  but  the  love  of  humanity, 
plunge  into  cellars  and  climb  into  garrets  where 
few  would  dare  to  venture  alone.  A  London  bar- 
rister told  me  of  the  recent  unostentatious  achieve- 
ment of  a  quiet,  hard-working  legal  acquaintance 
of  his,  whose  place  of  business  happened  to  be 
near  one  of  these  pest-circles,  —  a  spot  so  bad 
that  it  went  by  the  name  of  the  "  Caribbees,"  and 
that  seemed  past  cure.  His  heart  was  moved 
with  compassion  for  the  multitudes.  He  tried 
vainly  to  arouse  the  good  offices  of  religious  men 
and  churches.  No  one  would  attempt  the  cleans- 
ing of  such  a  pool.  He  went  alone  to  work.  He 
patiently  won  the  confidence  of  two  or  three  of  the 
inhabitants.  He  helped  them  to  scrape  their 
Avails  and  remove  the  filth  from  their  houses.  He 
put  them  in  the  way  of  getting  an  honest  liveli- 
hood. He  established  a  day  school  for  the  chil- 
dren, and  other  simple  but  effective  means  of 
reformation,  of  which  he  was  both  originator  and 
operator.  Single-handed  he  grappled  with  the 
problem  ;  and  now,  my  informant  remarked,  the 
entrance  of  light  and  order  is  spreading  through 


LONDON.  55 

the  whole  locality,  and  making  itself  visible  to  any 
eye. 

"  So  shines  a  good  deed  in  a  naughty  world." 

One  cannot  but  be  reminded  by  the  sights  and 
scenes,  and  above  all  the  people,  of  London,  of  the 
vanished  touch  of  that  magician's  hand  who  was 
also  a  kind  of  prophet  of  London  crying  the  burden 
of  its  woe,  and  who  studied  its  humanity  with  a 
heart  open  both  to  laughter  and  weeping.  A  pal- 
lid little  cripple  street-sweeper,  half-naked,  with 
the  stump  of  an  old  broom  in  his  hand,  hopped 
cheerily  along  at  my  side  on  a  cold,  rainy  Novem- 
ber day,  and  said  with  his  shrill  voice,  "Poor  lit- 
tle chick,  sir  —  give  him  a  lift,  sir  —  thankee,  good 
mornin',  sir." 

Dickens  forced  us  to  see  the  tragedy  as  well  as 
comedy  of  pauper  humanity,  and  that  every  hu- 
man being,  though  clad  in  rags,  has  in  him  more 
of  the  capabilities  of  terrible  pathos  than  Euripides 
has  painted  under  the  trailing  robes  of  imaginary 
kings  and  queens.  Dickens  has  imperceptibly  de- 
clined, while  Thackeray  has  grown  in  fame,  and 
justly,  I  think,  where  actual  power  and  skill  as 
artists  are  regarded  ;  but  should  we  soon  forget 
the  great,  tender-hearted  limner  of  the  abandoned 
classes  of  our  common  nature  ?  A  ray,  faint  in- 
deed, but  pure  and  warm,  of  the  divine  charity 
fell  on  those  tear-dimmed  pages  that  portray  the 
sufferings  endured  in  their  little  earthly  pilgrim- 
ages of  Oliver  Twist  and  Tiny  Tim. 

In  regard  to  the  health  of  London,  notwith- 
standing its  smoke,  fogs,  and  the  physical  impos- 


56  OLD  ENGLAND. 

sibility  of  perfectly  successful  drainage,  ifc  has  been 
pronounced  —  and  vital  statistics  bear  this  out  — 
an  exceptionally  healthy  place.  Though  subject 
to  rapid  alternations  of  temperature,  an  English 
writer  remarks  that  its  clinlate  is  generally  mild 
and  according  to  the  seasons,  equable,  with  an 
early  spring*  and  a  long  autumn.  For  myself,  ex- 
cept in  a  nasty  London  fog,  I  have  always  rather 
enjoyed  the  moist  and  pleasant  though  dull  atmos- 
phere of  the  metropolis,  and  would  miss  that  semi- 
gloom  when  the  sun  shines  with  lack-lustre  and 
watery  ray,  and  gas  (or  electric  light)  hastens  to 
dispense  with  his  feeble  aid. 

At  about  one  o'clock  —  the  middle  of  the  busi- 
ness day  —  it  always  appeared  as  if  plodding,  se- 
rious London  were  seized  with  a  sudden  frenzy. 
Cabmen  begin  quarrelling.  Hansoms  are  tearing 
along  like  cars  in  an  ancient  chariot  race.  Enor- 
mous teams  are  driven  with  fury  amain.  Every- 
body is  walking  fast.  Noise  and  tumult  reign 
and  there  is  a  shouting  as  of  the  captains  in  a 
battle.  This  excitement  gradually  goes  down  to- 
wards the  hour  of  bodily  refreshment,  when,  by 
the  principles  of  the  English  constitution,  no  true 
Englishman,  from  lord  to  collier,  suffers  aught  to 
weigh  unduly  on  his  mind,  or  interfere  with  good 
digestion.  Strangers  and  unconventional  Ameri- 
cans catch  the  spirit  of  this  comfortable  philosophy, 
and  soon  learn  to  estimate  aright  the  economic 
advantages  and  profound  moral  import  of  that 
greatest  of  British  as  it  was  of  Roman  institutions 


LONDON.  57 

(and  the  ancient  Roman  and  modern  Briton  have 
many  traits  in  common),  —  dinner. 

After  having  surveyed  St.  Paul's  Cathedral 
within  and  looked  out  of  the  brass  ball  on  top,  if 
he  be  moderately  sized  enough  to  squeeze  himself 
into  it,  and  after  having  silently  worshipped  in 
ever  beautiful  and  solemn  Westminster  Abbey, 
one  is  disposed  to  inquire  a  little  into  the  spiritual 
condition  and  relations  of  those  who  are  accus- 
tomed to  pray  in  these  venerable  London  churches. 
I  hope  the  reader  will  bear  patiently  with  the 
brief  religious  and  ecclesiastical  discussions  in  my 
book  as  lie  considers  that  such  a  spiritual  home 
and  land  as  England  could  not  be  treated  with- 
out them  except  in  the  most  superficial  manner. 
It  would  be  painting  a  dead  countenance  from 
which  all  the  expression  of  the  deeper  soul  had 
fled.  There  is  a  marked  outward  reverence  for 
religious  things  in  England ;  and  this  goes  as- 
suredly further  than  the  well-mannered  English 
gentleman  who  put  his  hat  before  his  bowed  head 
in  public  prayer,  and  —  counted  ten.  Religion  is 
respectable  (and  that  is  saying  a  great  deal)  in 
England.  Though  its  purest  fire  may  burn  in  the 
cottages  of  the  poor,  it  is  honored  among  all 
classes.  Judges,  noblemen,  leading  members  of 
the  bar,  ministers  of  state,  and  popular  represent- 
atives do  not  hesitate  to  take  prominent  parts  in 
religious  and  churchly  convocations.  There  is 
also  really  great  liberality  of  opinion  in  matters 
of  faith.     Notwithstanding  the  occasional  outcrop- 


68  OLD  ENGLAND. 

pings  of  hierarchical  dogmatism  and  exclusive- 
ness,  under  the  same  ecclesiastical  roof-tree  have 
lived  the  Bishop  of  Oxford  and  the  Bishop  of  Na- 
tal, and  there  have  resounded  in  brotherly  strife 
the  controversial  voices  of  Mansell  and  Maurice. 
When  there  arises,  however,  an  ambitious  and 
independent  mind  like  Maurice,  or  Carlyle,  or 
Matthew  Arnold,  or  Frederick  Robertson,  there 
is  evidence  of  great  and  extensive  disturbance. 
Visible  alarm  is  manifested  all  along  the  line 
among  a  community  who  have  their  established 
faith  shaken,  and  there  is  a  flocking  together  of 
the  clergy  and  shepherds  of  the  people  to  defend 
by  the  strong  arm  of  authority  the  Church's  fold 
from  these  dangerous  assaults.  This  was  seen 
when  High  Churchism  sprang  up  at  Oxford. 
This  is  also  seen  in  the  rise  and  progress  of  the 
Broad  Church  movement,  which  originated  from 
the  reaction  of  High  Churchism,  and  from  the  im- 
pulse given  by  the  Tractarian  party  to  learning. 
Arnold  of  Rugby,  one  of  the  originators  of  the 
Broad  Church,  was,  oddly  enough,  one  of  the  stout- 
est defenders  of  the  English  principle  of  union  of 
Church  and  State  ;  though  his  reasons  are  nobler 
than  those  usually  entertained,  and  it  might  be 
said  were  peculiar  to  himself.  These  are  set  forth, 
for  example,  in  a  characteristic  utterance  like  the 
following  :  — 

"  I  look  to  the  full  development  of  the  Christian 
Church  in  its  perfect  form,  as  the  Kingdom  of 
God,  for  the  most  effective  removal  of  all  evil,  and 
promotion  of  all  good ;  and  I  can  understand  no 


LONDON.  59 

perfect  Church  or  perfect  State  without  their 
blending  into  one  in  this  ultimate  form.  I  be- 
lieve, further,  that  our  fathers  at  the  Reforma- 
tion stumbled  accidentally,  or  were  rather  uncon- 
sciously led  by  God's  providence,  to  the  declara- 
tion of  the  great  principle  of  this  system,  —  the 
doctrine  of  the  king's  supremacy.  Holding  this 
doctrine  as  the  very  corner-stone  of  my  political 
belief,  I  am  equally  opposed  to  Popery,  High 
Churchism,  and  the  claims  of  the  Scotch  Presby- 
teries, on  the  one  hand ;  and  to  all  the  Independ- 
ents and  advocates  of  the  separation,  as  they  call 
it,  of  Church  and  State,  on  the  other  ;  the  first 
setting  up  a  priesthood  in  the  Church,  and  the 
other  lowering  necessarily  the  objects  of  Law  and 
Government,  and  reducing  them  to  a  mere  system 
of  police,  while  they  profess  to  wish  to  make  the 
Church  purer."  Neither  Tractarianism  nor  Dis- 
sent had  quarter  from  Dr.  Arnold.  From  such 
noble  theorists  as  himself  we  could  admit  any- 
thing, because,  whatever  their  speculations,  they 
loved  truth  above  all  things.  Were  men  like  him 
there  would  be  no  difficulty  in  conceding  the  iden- 
tity of  Church  and  State. 

Low  Church  Evangelicals,  Puseyites,  Broad 
Churchmen,  Liberals,  Independents,  and  all 
shades  of  Nonconformists,  or  "  Dissenters  "  as  they 
are  now  called,  are  represented  in  the  London 
pulpits.  In  the  secular  portion  of  the  week,  if 
we  may  believe  Carlyle,  the  "  Golden  Calf  "  is 
worshipped  in  his  own  temple  ;  but  in  the  holy 
time,  in  the  prominent  churches  where  the  more 


60  OLD   ENGLAND, 

renowned  pulpit  orators  are,  there  are  fairly  good 
congregations.  Canon  Liddon  and  Dean  Stanley 
•were  much  more  to  my  own  personal  taste  as  preach- 
ers, but  over  on  the  Surrey  side,  Mr.  Spurgeon, 
judging  by  the  vast  audiences  that  poured  into  his 
great  Tabernacle,  was  the  most  popular.  I  heard 
him  twice.  His  main  element  of  power  seemed  to 
be  his  plain  earnestness, —  in  fact  he  is  sometimes 
tremendously  in  earnest.  Then  his  fluency  was 
a  marked  feature.  He  spoke  without  notes,  with 
never  a  stop,  or  break,  or  ill-formed  sentence,  and  in 
the  easy  continuous  flow  of  his  speech  the  hear- 
er's mind  floats  upon  it  with  hardly  a  conscious- 
ness of  the  preacher,  which  is  always  a  pleasure. 
He  had,  too,  a  voice  of  considerable  power,  with 
youthful  tones  still  in  it.  It  is  an  organe  tres 
agreable,  as  a  French  gentleman  sitting  beside  me 
remarked.  It  is  loud  enough  without  ever  los- 
ing its  roundness  or  sweetness.  His  preaching 
abounded  in  well-told  facts,  in  close,  apt,  ringing 
bits  of  human  experience  that  clinch  the  impor- 
tant and  perhaps  unwelcome  truth.  He  had  the 
Luther  temperament  that  delights  in  pithy  sayings 
and  stories  that  penetrate  into  the  springs  of  ac- 
tion, let  them  be  even  odd  and  laughable.  No 
dainty-fingered  orator,  no  feeble  instrument,  could 
lift  up  the  light  of  Christianity  in  this  world- 
centre,  and  preach  to  its  teeming  masses  in  their 
ignorance,  corruption,  and  sin. 

And  there  was  also  once,  we  cannot  but  re- 
member, another  popular  London  preacher,  who 
in  intellectual  gifts,  in  the  sweep  of  his  thought 


LONDON.  61 

and  splendor  of  his  imagination,  —  Coleridge 
called  it  Miltonic,  —  surpassed  the  sons  of  men! 
It  was  sad  to  visit  the  great  cathedral  in  Gordon 
Square  and  to  recall  the  history  of  Edward  Irving. 
As  one  sees  the  imposing  ritual  with  its  candles, 
incense,  and  rich  vestments,  and  the  rank  on  rank 
of  white-robed  "  prophets,"  "  apostles,"  and  "  an- 
gels," the  magnificent  symbolization  poorly  makes 
up  for  the  noble  mind  that  fell  shattered  as  by 
a  bolt  from  heaven.  He  was  a  pure  and  lofty 
soul,  but  popularity  and  prophecy  are  either  of 
them  enough  to  destroy  a  man's  wits. 

It  has  been  estimated  that  in  London  less  than 
one  quarter  of  the  population  are  attendants  upon 
public  worship.  This  is  an  astounding  estimate  of 
the  number  of  non-worshipers  in  the  gigantic  cap- 
ital of  Protestant  Christendom.  But  let  one  enter 
a  London  church  and  he  can  believe  it.  The  vast 
tide  of  human  life  flows  past  the  churches,  not  into 
them.  Why  this  apathy  to  the  regular  worship  of 
God?  Why  do  these  hosts  turn  away  from  the 
temples  of  the  Most  High  ?  Undoubtedly  the  mass 
of  them  belong  to  the  poorer  and  laboring  classes, 
who  take  Sunday  for  a  day  of  bodily  rest  and 
amusement.  A  great  number  of  them  also  are 
branded  outcasts,  religious  "  pariahs,"  who  would 
no  more  think  of  entering  a  church  than  a  palace. 
And  they  could  no  more  do  so,  as  the  churches  are 
constituted.  But  this  would  leave  an  immense 
class  still,  who  have  sufficient  means,  social  position, 
sud  intelligence,  to  be  good  church-going  people  in 
'ormal  Old    England.     Why  do   not   they  attend 


62  OLD   ENGLAND. 

public  worship?  It  becomes  a  traveler  who  has 
limited  means  of  observation  to  speak  modestly,  but 
one  of  the  principal  reasons  of  this  non-attendance, 
I  believe,  is  that  neither  the  people's  minds  nor  souls 
are  sufficiently  fed  by  the  preaching.  The  preach- 
ing; that  I  heard  from  the  two  bodies  of  the  Estab- 
lished  Church,  and  also  in  some  of  the  dissenting 
churches,  was,  as  a  general  thing,  I  am  forced  to 
say,  dull  and  jejune,  wanting  in  interest  and  draw- 
ing power.  On  the  part  of  the  Establishment  there 
was  either  a  narrow  circle  of  argument  upon  the 
mystic  functions  of  the  Church  and.  ritualistic  ques- 
tions, or  a  dry  repetition  of  common  orthodox  state- 
ments of  theology,  with  little  personal  earnestness 
and  application ;  there  was  a  dogmatic  assailing 
of  heresies,  without  making  the  truth  itself  shine 
out  clear  ;  and  lastly,  there  was  such  an  exclusive 
preaching  of  the  Old  Testament  as  almost  to  ex- 
clude the  brighter  light  of  the  New.  The  only  re- 
lief was  a  tone  of  tenderness  and  devotional  warmth 
which  often  broke  out  unexpectedly,  and  illu- 
mined the  whole  service.  Among  Dissenters  there 
seemed  to  be,  with  great  purity  of  doctrine,  some 
lack  of  spiritual  earnestness,  and  also  of  cultured 
Btyle.  Such  remarks  could  not  of  course  apply  to 
men  like  Dr.  Raleigh,  Newman  Hall,  Dr.  Massie, 
and  many  others.     But  among  both  classes,  rarely 

lid  I  hear  any  thing  like  close  thinking,  grasping 
the  depths  of  the  subject,  and  manifesting  an  orig 
,nal  development  of  truth.     The  theology  seemeo 

o  be  taken  bodily  from  the  Prayer-Book,  or  som« 


LONDON.  63 

ancient  manual  of  doctrine.    It  was  not  burned  into 
the  preacher's  mind,  and  poured  glowing  into  the 
minds  of  others.     And  there  seemed  to  be  too  lit- 
tle of  true  metaphysical  groundwork.     It  was  not 
thought  out  and   through,  and  the   profound    and 
delightful  harmonies  of  Truth  made  to  come  forth. 
Bald,  disjointed,  and  monotonous  declarations,  ut- 
tered with  the  positiveness  of  ages  of  unchallenged 
authority,    cannot   now    hold    men.     Nor   is    such 
preaching  fitted  to  awaken  practical  benevolence 
and    sympathy  for  the    poorer   classes.      It   does 
not  touch  the  wants  and  hearts  of  men,  and  the 
heart  will  not  go  where  it  does  not  find  either  life 
or  repose.      It  is   probably  the  contrast  to  such 
preaching  that  made   Spurgeon,  notwithstanding 
his  occasional  rudeness  and  homeliness,  so  popular. 
There  are  many  very  eloquent  divines  in  England, 
men  of  fervid  faith  and  stalwart  minds  ;   but  the 
level  of  preaching  in  England,  as  to  the  essential 
qualities  of  earnestness,  force,  and  manner,  is,  I  be- 
lieve, below  that  in  America,  and  below  it  also  in 
practical  results.     I  heard  Henry  Melville  preach 
a  sermon  addressed  to  working  people  at  Christ's 
Church,  Newgate  Street.     I  had  long  had  before 
me   an    ideal    of    this    distinguished   pulpit  orator, 
with  a  name  like  the  sound  of  a  flute.    Every  thing 
noble,    beautiful,   and  scholar-like  was  blended  in 
that  conception.     He  was  probably  thin,  worn  with 
'bought,    but   with    classic    features   and    spiritual 
Drow,  and  with  the  voice  of  a  silver  trumpet.     He 
was  calm  and  peaceful  like  a  deep  river,  but  rolling 


64  OLD  ENGLAND. 

along  rich  burdens  of  thought.  Alas !  I  found  a 
grizzle-haired  athlete  in  the  desk,  a  brusque  old 
gentleman,  with  sanguine  manner,  with  a  voice 
like  a  November  storm,  and  a  dogmatic  positiveness 
in  the  enunciation  of  sensible  but  commonplace 
proposition's,  that  fairly  astonished  me.  He  flamed 
away  against  sceptics,  and  called  them  "  pert  cox- 
combs," and  other  old-fashioned  names  of  scorn. 
What  he  said  may  have  been  sound,  but  it  was  not 
peculiarly  salted  with  learning,  nor  inspired  with 
high  spiritual  views.  It  was  undoubtedly  meant  to 
be  adapted  to  the  class  of  working  people,  which  I 
did  not  think  of  at  the  time,  and  I  hardly  recovered 
myself  sufficiently  in  the  course  of  the  evening  to 
recognize  a  remarkable  degree  of  vigor  of  style 
and  delivery.  My  English  friends  told  me  it  was 
not  a  favorable  specimen  of  his  preaching.  I  had  a 
different  but  not  much  more  satisfactory  experience 
in  listening  to  another  sermon  addressed  to  working 
people  by  Rev.  F.  D.  Maurice.  It  was  in  the 
ancient  chapel  of  LincoluVIim-Fields,  that  den  of 
lawyers.  lie  was  a  short  man,  with  piercing  black 
eyes,  very  pleasant  face,  but  worn  and  scholar-like, 
and  with  a  thoughtful  pensiveness  of  expression. 
The  loved  brother-in-law  of  Sterling,  the  friend  of 
Archdeacon  Hare,  of  the  present  Bishop  of  Oxford, 
of  Kingsley  and  Tennyson,  he  must  have  had  an 
attaching,  stimulating  power.  But  he  did  not  show 
it  in  the  pulpit,  and  his  small  congregation  proved  it. 
His  delivery  was  artificial,  almost  a  sing-song  tone, 
lind  by  no  means  distinct ;  and  his  style  was  alto- 


LONDON.  65 

gether   too   high-pitched  and  essayish,  to  reach  a 
common  audience,  much  more  an  assembly  of  uned- 
ucated  men.     It  sounded  just  as  his  books  read; 
with   now   and    then   the   gleam   of  a   suggestive 
thought,  but  with  no  clear  development  of  it.     The 
experience  of  some  others  in  respect  to  Mr.  Maur- 
ice's  preaching   is    also    different    from    my   own, 
therefore  I  advance  it  with  some  hesitation.     He 
wielded  in  England  an   indefinable  and  perhaps 
a  still  increasing  influence.     He  was  liked  for  his 
manliness,  his  progressive  capacity,  and  his  noble 
sympathy  with  the  religious  doubts  and  difficulties 
of  men.     He  showed  more  sympathy  for  the  igno- 
rant and  lower  classes  than  practical  power  to  help 
them.     He  did  not  certainly  possess  the  logical 
faculty  in  a  high  degree,  and  his  style  is  criticised 
for  its  vagueness ;  but  his  intuitions  of  truth  were 
penetrative  and  sometimes  profound.    He  was  not  a 
good  guide,  but  was  an  independent  explorer.    His 
bold  gropings  in  the  dark  will  have  increased  the 
limits  of  truth.   He  lacked  that  objective  or  positive 
element  of  faith,  that  all  great  preachers  and  theo- 
logians have  had,  and  was  disposed  to  refine  Chris- 
tian truth  too  much.    In  his  controversy  with  Mr. 
Mansell  he  showed  the  more  Christ-like  spirit,  and 
in  many  things  assumed  a  higher  and  more  immov- 
able position.    He  by  no  means  admitted  himself  to 
be  an  innovator  upon  the  old  Faith ;  but  meant  to 
be  a  reviver  of  its  deeper  claims  on  our  obedience 
and  love.     He  held  that  our  nature  was  made  for 
Faith.     He  thought  that  man  can  know  God,  and 


S6  OLD  ENGLAND. 

the  Son  of  God ;  that  he  may  feel  assured  of  the 
truth,  and  have  the  living  demonstration  of  the 
truth  in  his  own  heart.  His  views  of  the  character 
of  God  were  also  attractive,  regarding  Him  pri- 
marily in  the  light  of  a  Father.  Yet  it  must  be 
said  that  generally  in  England  he  is  considered 
to  have  introduced  an  ideal  and  modified  system 
that  views  Christianity  in  the  aspect  of  a  fact  ac- 
complished, and  which  every  man  has  but  to  open 
his  eyes  upon  and  enjoy,  rather  than  of  a  truth  that 
must  be  personally  received  by  every  man,  and 
enter  into  every  soul's  individual  experience  for  its 
renewal  and  eternal  life.  In  conversation  at  his 
own  pleasant  home,  if  one  be  not  converted  to  all 
of  Mr.  Maurice's  opinions,  he  would  be  converted 
to  Mr.  Maurice  himself,  as  a  noble  man  and  Chris- 
tian gentleman. 

The  Rev.  Newman  Hall  occupied  the  pulpit  of 
Surrey  Chapel  in  Southwark,  where  Rowland  Hill 
preached  for  nearly  fifty  years.  It  is  a  clingy, 
octagonal  brick  edifice,  plain  within  and  without. 
Mr.  Hall  is  a  whole-souled  man,  uttering  that 
which  he  knows  and  believes,  and  reminding  one 
of  an  earnest  American  preacher,  speaking  with 
freedom,  ease,,  and  popular  effect.  As  a  firm  and 
tried  friend  of  America  during  the  whole  of  her 
great  conflict,  he  is  certainly  worthy  of  our  high- 
est esteem  and  gratitude. 

In  polish  of  manner  and  outward  grace,  Dr. 
Cumming,  of  Crown  Court  Chapel,  near  Covent 
Garden,  was  superior  to  all  these.     Nor,  when  I 


LONDON.  67 

heard  him,  was  there  aught  visionary  or  apocalyptic 
in  his  discourse.  Before  the  sermon  he  gave  an 
exposition  of  the  23d  chapter  of  Matthew,  which 
might  have  been  continued  through  Mark,  Luke, 
and  John.  A  peerless  capacity  for  "continuous- 
ness,"  had  Dr.  dimming.  But  there  was  much 
that  was  fresh  in  it.  He  did  not  shrink  from  say- 
ing that  such  and  such  a  passage  was  not  translated 
rightly,  as  for  instance,  "straining  at  a  gnat  and 
swallowing  a  camel "  should  be  "  straining  out  a 
gnat,"  &c,  in  allusion  to  the  practice  of  straining 
wine  through  a  fine  sieve.  His  sermon  on  the 
text,  "O  Jerusalem,  Jerusalem,"  &c,  had  a  mag- 
nificent ending,  in  which  he  described  the  new 
Jerusalem  coming  down  from  heaven,  and  em- 
bracing all  the  goodness  that  God  had  inspired  and 
recreated  in  human  nature.  He  had  little  sweep 
or  largeness  of  manner,  but  great  ease  and  flow. 
It  was  a  conversational  style.  His  voice  was  rich 
and  mellow  without  being  powerful.  He  was  a  tall 
man,  with  high  white  forehead  and  dark  hair.  As  a 
graceful  and  yet  not  effeminate  preacher,  Dr.  dim- 
ming had  surely  excellent  claims  to  his  celebrity. 
I  will  not  speak  further  of  the  preachers  of  the 
Established  Church  whom  I  heard.  Some  of  them 
compared  well  with  those  already  named;  but  in 
regard  to  the  Church  of  England,  in  its  ministry, 
polity,  and  general  features,  notwithstanding  its 
noble  history,  its  benevolent  spirit,  and  its  essential 
purity,  from  my  own  limited  observation,  and  cer- 
tainly from  no  uncharitable  or  prejudiced  state  of 


68  OLD  ENGLAND. 

mind,  I  am  disposed  to  coincide  with  a  remark 
in  the  "  London  Review,"  "  that  great  practical 
changes  must  be  made  in  the  arrangements  and 
working  of  the  Church  of  England  if  she  is  to  be 
the  spiritual  home  of  the  whole  people  of  the  land, 
as  she  ought  to  be."  The  English  Church  has  not, 
in  the  spirit  of  true  Christian  philanthropy,  gauged 
human  misery  to  the  bottom  —  has  not  truly 
preached  the  Gospel  to  the  poor.  Methodism  ran 
before  and  did  this  work  for  it.  But  how  much 
remains  still  to  be  done  in  a  city  like  London ! 
Yet,  it  should  be  said,  while  these  high  instru- 
mentalities of  the  great  London  parish  churches 
fail  to  do  their  appointed  task,  humbler  ministries, 
raised  up  and  going  forth  it  may  be  from  their 
bosom,  are  effecting  a  silent  but  mighty  work  in 
the  moral  wastes  of  London,  and  like  invisible 
angels  are  continually  active  in  soothing  the  sor- 
rows and  spreading  the  tables  of  the  poor. 

There  is  one  thing  to  be  admired  in  the  worship 
of  the  English  Church  —  the  apparent  unity  and 
fervor  of  devotional  interest  and  feeling  in  the 
congregation.  The  moment  the  text  is  announced 
there  is  a  general  opening  of  Bibles,  all  following 
the  preacher's  explanation  of  the  passage  with  the 
greatest  earnestness.  The  singing  also  is  diffusive 
and  congregational.  There  are  no  instrumental 
:nterludes  between  the  stanzas  of  the  hymn 
There  is  no  flourishing  of  trumpets  in  the  playing 
of  the  organ,  and  nothing  like  executing  music 
Art  is   subordinated   to  devotion  more  than  it   is 


LONDON.  69 

with  us.  The  choir  is  mixed  up  with  the  congre- 
gation, thus  giving  correctness  and  fire  to  the  sing- 
ing of  all  the  people.  I  have  never  heard  in 
Catholic  countries,  or  in  any  part  of  the  world, 
church  music,  that  for  beauty,  animation,  and  fer- 
vor, at  all  equalled  the  choral  singing  in  the  public 
service  of  the  great  English  cathedrals. 

In  closing  this  chapter,  I  would  simply  add  that 
in  speaking  of  the  defects  of  the  English  Church, 
I  have  not  had  reference  so  much  to  the  individ- 
uals composing  that  Church,  as  to  the  system  itself 
which  produces  these  defects.  The  faults  of  the 
Established  Church,  in  whose  body  may  be  reck- 
oned some  of  the  most  perfectly  developed  and 
beautifully  symmetric  Christian  characters  to  be 
found  on  earth  —  these  faults  are  inseparably  con- 
nected with  the  working  of  a  State  Church.  In 
the  same  manner  much  of  the  rigid  controversial 
spirit  of  Dissent  arises  from  its  long  continued  and 
sincerely  maintained  hostile  position  ;  and  in  such 
hard  soil  have  matured  some  of  the  richest  and 
noblest  spirits  of  the  age. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

ENVIRONS    OF    LONDON. 

While  in  London  I  made  an  excursion  to  Stoke 
Pogis,  the  much-bewritten  scene  of  the  most  sol- 
emnly harmonious  poem  in  existence.  It  was  the 
favorite  poem  of  Daniel  Webster,  in  whose  mind 
there  was  a  vein  of  pensiveness,  and  its  music 
soothed  the  weary  statesman's  dying  hours.  As 
was  the  case  with  Goethe,  so  it  was  true  in  a  far 
^>  more  marked  manner  with  Gray,  that  "  nothing 
came  to  him  in  his  sleep."  He  wrote,  it  is  said, 
on  an  average  about  ten  lines  of  poetry  a  day  ; 
three  golden  verses  of  "  The  Elegy  on  a  Country 
Churchyard  "  a  day,  were  surely  enough  for  any 
man  to  have  wrought.  The  village  is  situated 
near  Slough,  on  the  Great  Western  Railway. 
After  leaving  Slough  one  drives  into  a  hedge- 
fringed  lane  with  tall  elms  on  either  side.  Passing 
the  entrance  of  Lord  Taunton's  Park,  and  turning 
into  it  by  the  side  of  a  flower-embosomed  cottage, 
the  spire  of  the  church  comes  in  view ;  and  trav- 
ersing the  trim  lawn  of  the  Park  one  arrives  at 
the  gate  of  the  "  Country  Churchyard."  This 
ancient  church  is  now,  of  course,  more  "  ivy- 
mantled  "  than  in  Gray's  time.     It  is  built  of  flin 


ENVIRONS   OF  LONDON.  71 

pebbles,  with  red-tiled  roofs,  and  has  three  low 
gable  fronts,  with  long  windows  and  a  tower 
draped  thickly  with  ivy.  The  spire  upon  it  looks 
modern.  There  is  a  brick  wall  and  screen  of  tall 
trees  about  the  churchyard,  separating  it  from  the 
Park.  The  "  rugged  elms  "  and  the  "  yew-trees' 
Bhade,"  spread  their  shadows  in  front  of  the  curi- 
ous wooden  porch  and  over  many  a  "  heaving 
turf."  There  are  some  moss-grown  monuments, 
but  not  as  many  as  I  expected  to  see.  It  is  a 
humble  "  country  churchyard."  A  small  slab 
under  the  window  of  one  of  the  gable  ends  of  the 
church  bears  these  words:  "  Opposite  to  this  stone, 
in  the  same  tomb  upon  which  he  has  so  feelingly 
recorded  his  grief  at  the  loss  of  a  beloved  parent, 
are  deposited  the  remains  of  Thomas  Gray,  the 
author  of  '  The  Elegy  written  in  a  Country 
Churchyard,'  &c,  &c.  He  was  buried  August  6, 
1771." 

The  tombstone  which  lies  under  the  window 
bears  an  inscription  to  the  poet's  aunt,  and  also 
the  followino-  one  to  his  mother :  "  In  the  same 
pious  confidence,  beside  her  friend  and  sister,  here 
sleep  the  remains  of  Dorothy  Gray,  widow,  the 
careful  and  tender  mother  of  many  children,  one 
of  whom  alone  had  the  misfortune  to  survive  her. 
She  died  March  11,  1733,  aged  67." 

Birds  in  great  numbers  flew  around  among 
f.he  trees,  and  hopped  fearlessly  upon  the  tombs. 
The  air  had  the  delicate  hum  of  insect  life,  and 
aow  and  then  the  whir  and  flutter  of  little  wings 


72  OLD  ENGLAND 

otherwise  it  was  as  still  and  reposeful  as  the 
grave. 

Walking  a  short  distance  over  the  green  meadow 
in  front  of  the  church,  one  comes  to  a  pretty 
laburnum-fringed  path,  that  leads  to  a  stately  and 
classic  stone  monument,  with  a  grove  over  against 
it  and  a  swelling  green  hill  beyond.  It  commands 
a  fine  view  of  the  church  and  graveyard.  The 
monument  is  in  honor  of  Gray,  and  of  the  region 
consecrated  by  his  genius.  It  has  quotations  from 
the  "  Elegy  "  and  other  poems.  In  the  direction 
of  the  grove  is  written  the  stanza  beginning  with, 

"  Hard  by  yon  wood  now  smiling  as  in  scorn." 

On  the  opposite  side  toward  Eton  are  the  well- 
known  verses,  — 

"  Ye  distant  spires, 
Ye  antique  towers,"  &c. 

On  the  side  looking  toward  the  churchyard  are 
the  deathless  "  household  words "  that  sing  so 
sweetly  of  death  and  the  grave. 

I  sincerely  hope  that  in  the  foregoing  brief 
description  I  have  not  committed  the  blunder  of 
another  American  tourist,  who,  after  expending  a 
great  amount  of  poetical  sympathy  upon  the  spot, 
discovered  that  he  had  pitched  upon  the  wrong 
churchyard. 

Hampton  Court,  standing  quiet  and  empty  amid 

from  the  Waterloo  Station,  by  the  South  Western 


y 

c\^..     Railway.     We  are  set  down  on  the  bank  of  the 
rV'  Thames,  but  as  different  from  the  Thames  at  Loi> 


A 


> 


ENVIRONS   OF  LONDON.  73 

don,  as  a  fair-faced  and  pure-hearted  child  from  a 
black  giant  man  reeking  with  every  foulness  and 
corruption.  We  row  over  the  tranquil,  osier-fringed 
Btream,  followed  by  greedy  swans  that  fearlessly 
oar  themselves  along  by  our  side.  We  are  met 
on  landing  by  a  greedier  company  of  little  girls, 
who  press  upon  visitors  their  baskets  of  straw- 
berries. The  sober  though  majestic  red-brick  walls 
of  the  Palace  are  before  us,  and  we  enter  its  clean- 
swept  and  solitary  courts.  Court-yard  opens  be- 
yond court-yard.  The  first  is  that  of  Wolsey ; 
the  second  that  of  Henry  VIII. ;  the  third  of  Wil- 
liam III. ;  and  the  fourth  of  George  II.  We 
ascend  Wolsey 's  grand  staircase,  —  a  type  of  his 
superb  taste  who  designed  and  built  this  palace  on 
a  scale  corresponding  too  nearly  to  his  own  regal 
ideas.  Hampton  Court  opened  the  eyes  of  Henry 
VIII.  Here,  the  prelate  who  just  missed  the 
Popedom  from  having  been  a  private  tutor  in  the 
Marquis  of  Dorset's  family,  had  bishops  to  wait 
upon  him,  and  compelled  the  first  noblemen  in  the 
realm  to  present  him  water  and  napkin.  So  says 
the  historian  ;  who  also  relates  that  at  Hampton 
Court  were  two  hundred  and  eighty  beds  of  silk 
for  royal  and  noble  guests.  The  Richelieu  of 
England  would  also  have  governed  it  to  the  end, 
bad  Henry  VIII.  been  a  Louis  XIII.  But  this 
monarch  had  great  governing  capacity  of  his  own. 
In  his  face,  with  his  thi~k  dewlaps  and  eyes  stand- 
ing out  with  fatness,  there  is  a  vast  rough  energy. 
Be  his  sins  ever  so  great,  he  was   master  of  his 


74  OLD  ENGLAND. 

kingdom.  He  outgrew  his  minister.  He  could 
understand  the  greatness  of  Wolsey,  and  so  high 
was  the  king's  estimate  of  his  talents,  that  some 
of  the  last  political  failures  of  Wolsey  were  evi- 
dently attributed  to  his  want  of  fidelity,  not  of 
foresight  ;  this  fact  sealed  his  downfall.  There 
have  been  in  the  long  course  of  English  history 
three  prelates  who  have  attempted  the  subjugation 
of  England,  —  Dunstan,  Thomas  £t  Becket,  and 
Thomas  Wolsey.  Froude  says,  Wolsey  "  loved 
England  well  but  Rome  better."  He  dreamed 
of  rebuilding  the  Catholic  Church  in  more  than 
its  former  glory.  In  these  late  years  there  has 
been  another  bold  attempt  of  this  sort,  but  the 
scheme,  though  deeply  laid,  has  lacked  the  pow- 
erful genius  to  direct,  or  has  happened  some  cen- 
turies too  late.  The  long  suites  of  apartments 
in  Hampton  Court,  "  empty,  swept,  and  garn- 
ished," contain  a  few  good  pictures,  especially  the 
portraits  of  the  children  of  George  III.  by  West ; 
but  there  is  a  rumor  that  this  palace  is  made  a 
lumber-room  for  things  too  valuable  to  be  thrown 
away,  yet  not  good  enough  for  the  choicer  collect- 
ions. Perhaps  this  is  saying  too  much  ;  Hamp- 
ton Court  is  understood  to  be  a  gathering  place 
of  historical  antiquities.  In  the  room  hung  around 
with  the  beauties  of  the  Court  of  Charles  II.  — 
and  they  are  splendid  English  beauties  —  it  ia 
well  that  the  irreproachable  one  among  them 
should  be  the  most  lovelv  of  all,  —  the  Countesa 
f  Grammont 


ENVIRONS   OF  LONDON.  75 

Many  of  the  rooms  have  pictures  commemora- 
tive of  the  reign  of  William  III.  His  own  home- 
ly but  high  and  intrepid  face  is  frequently  seen. 
Here  was  the  favorite  residence  of  this  kino-  who 
loved  to  shut  himself  up  in  perfect  seclusion  ;  and 
it  was  when  riding  from  Kensington  to  Hampton 
Court,  that  he  fell  and  broke  his  collar-bone,  which 
was  the  occasion  of  his  death.  The  "Cartoons1" 
of  Raphael  are  the  precious  things  of  this  palace. 
These  original  drawings  on  paper  are  nobler  than 
any  copies  of  them  in  tapestry  or  on  canvas. 
They  show  that  grace  was  not  the  greatest  quality 
of  Raphael,  that  breadth,  dignity  and  power  were 
equally  his.  These  "  Cartoons  "  justify  the  re- 
mark of  Lanzi,  that  notwithstanding  the  beauty 
of  Raphael's  female  heads,  his  male  heads  have  a 
nobler  character.  Yet  it  is  after  all  a  little  amus- 
ing to  hear  art-critics  attempt  to  defend  the  small 
boats,  and  the  storks,  in  the  picture  of  the  "  Mi- 
raculous Draught  of  Fishes." 

In  the  "Hall  of  Henry  VIII."  the  architectural 
glories  of  the  palace  centre.  The  ceiling  is  of  the 
richest  open  beam-work,  with  pendent  corbels. 
Here  also  is  some  genuine  old  arras.  There  is  a 
tradition  that  in  the  time  of  Elizabeth,  Shaks- 
peare's  plays  were  first  acted  in  this  hall.  Small 
but  interesting  portraits  of  Wolsey,  Henry  VIII., 
and  his  six  wives,  adorn  the  room.  In  this 
room  probably  James  I  held  that  annoying  confer- 
ence with  the  conflicting  parties  of  the  Church  and 
Pr"itan  denominations,  in  which  he  enunciated  the 
1  Lately  removed  to  Kensington  Museum 


76  OLD  ENGLAND. 

famous  apothegm  of  "  no  bishop,  no  king ;  "  and  h* 
boasted  afterward,  in  a  letter  to  a  Scotch  friend, 
"  that  he  kept  such  a  revel  with  the  Puritans  thesn 
two  days   as  was  never  heard  the  like  ;  where  I 
have  peppered  them  as  roundly  as  ye  have  done 
the   Papists.     They  fled  me  so  from  argument  to 
argument,  without  ever  answering  me  directly,  as 
I  was  forced  at  last  to  say  unto   them,"  &c,  &c. 
Glimpses  of  the  garden  from  various. windows  and 
angles  made  me  more  desirous  to  see  the  outside 
than    t,he    inside    of  the    house,  on    such  a  sweet, 
cloudless,  balmy  morning.     It  was  in  the  month  of 
June.     The  loveliness  of  an  English   garden !     I 
don't  care  to  describe  it  artistically,  even  if  I  were 
able   to  do  so  ;  it  is  enough  to  enjoy  it.     In  what 
other  country  could  one  find  the  same  perfection  ; 
not  in  France  surely,  where  the   trees  stand  like 
'■'■gens  d'armes"  shouldering  their  muskets.     The 
^rass,  green  the  year  round,  is  as  soft,  and  bright, 
And  springy,  as  that  of  some  hidden  alpine  pasture. 
It  grows  close  up  under  the  trees  and  shrubs,  to 
their  very  stems,  so  that  the  shadows  are  beauti- 
ful upon  the  smooth  velvet.    We  do  not  always  see 
this  in  our  more  fiery  America.    The  rich  varieties 
tf  standard  roses,  and  the  English  guelder-rose  with 
r,  its  superb  white  blossoms,  embroider  the  borders  of 
the  long  terraces.    The  dark  shade  of  the  sycamore 
mixes  with   the    lighter  green    of  the  oak.      Th< 
smooth-leaved  elegant  lime,  brought  into  England 
by  the  Romans  from  Italy,  whose  blossoms  are  sc 
ieliciously  fragrant,  forms  groups  with  the  roughel 


ENVIRONS   OF  LONDON.  77 

p.ne  and  the  trailing  elm.  What  matters  it  that 
the  lines  are  artificial  ?  It  can  be  forgiven  when 
every  thing  is  so  fresh,  and  so  wonderfully  neat,  as 
if  the  elves  and  fays  had  shaved  the  borders  and 
polished  the  leaves.  Naught  is  heard  but  the  faint 
plash  of  the  fountain  and  the  warble  of  birds.  Near 
the  fountain  we  found  some  blind  persons  sitting. 
They  had  been  invited  to  pass  the  day  in  the  gar- 
dens, to  enjoy  the  summer  perfumes  and  the  pleas- 
ant sounds.  The  English  excel  in  these  little  refine- 
ments of  benevolence.  They  make  them  a  study. 
The  visitor  is  shown  the  famous  Black  Hamburgh 
vine,  which  requires  a  whole  conservatory  for  it- 
self, and  produces  every  year  from  2000  to  3000 
bunches  of  grapes.  It  is  said  to  be  over  two  hun- 
dred and  fifty  years  old. 

I  took  a  carriage  and  drove  through  Bushy 
Park  toward  Twickenham  and  Richmond.  The 
first  part  of  the  way  lay  through  a  splendid  avenue 
of  horse-chestnut  trees,  the  Park  stretching  away 
pleasantly  in  green  glades  on  either  side.  It 
:eemed  to  be  a  merry  time  on  this  midsummer 
day.  Everybody  was  out  junketing.  There 
were  dancing  parties  under  the  oaks,  with  all  the 
gypsy  apparatus  of  baskets,  plates  and  pans,  spread  j^w^0" 
upon  the  grass.  We  met  cricket  matches  going 
on,  each  with  its  absorbed  crowd  of  spectators. 
Every  little  village  has  its  cricket  ground ;  but 
nere  are  permanent  centres,  or  societies,  for  the 
instruction  and  organization  of  this  game,  that  give 
.he  law  to  the  kingdom.     The  laws  of  cricket,  as 


78  OLD  ENGLAND. 

put  forth  by  the  celebrated  "  Mary-le-bone  Club," 
are  contained  in  forty-seven  articles,  as  precisely 
drawn  up  and  worded  as  the  statutes  of  Parlia- 
ment. And  all  this  to  knock  down  two  or  three 
sticks  stuck  in  the  ground !  But  these  sticks  are 
guarded  by  such  skill,  activity,  and  tenacity,  that 
all  the  manhood  in  the  field  is  brought  out  in  this 
exciting  sport.  Cricket,  and  foot-ball,  and  quoits, 
and  golf,  and  bowling,  and  hurling,  and  rowing, 
and  riding,  and  hunting,  go  far  to  make  the  deep- 
chested,  big-armed,  enduring  English  race.  Are 
not  these  sports  preferable  to  the  flashy  listlessness 
with  which  many  of  our  fashionable  youth,  both 
^Jj^\-*J~  in  city  and  country,  consume  their  leisure  hours  ? 
It  is  better  to  get  an  arm  broken  in  foot-ball,  or 
^c^  in  beinjx  thrown  from  a  horse,  than  to  have   the 

whole    system   and    soul    eaten    out    by   smoking, 


^r***   s 


drinking,  and  in-door  idle  dissipation.  When  a 
youth  or  young  man  has  grown  to  be  too  lazy  to 
play  foot-ball,  or  base-ball,  or  cricket,  there  is  not 
much  hope  for  him  intellectually  or  morally.  Of 
late  years,  it  is  true,  American  muscularity  has 
made  astonishing  progress,  and  the  war  has  done 
more  for  us  than  cricketing.  But  this  love  of 
energetic  sport  and  of  out-of-door  life  runs  through 
all  classes.  It  gives  England  her  race  of  Nestors 
in  the  field  and  in  the  council.  We  heard  of  Lord 
Palmerston  riding  thirty  miles  on  a  stretch.  Have- 
lock  drank  no  wine,  brandy,  or  even  ale.  Au 
tarly  riser,  a  hard  rider,  a  lover  of  Nature,  he  was 
eady  to  do  the  impetuous  work  of  a  young  man 


ENVIRONS   OF  LONDON.  79 

jn  Lis  old  age.  An  English  family  of  the  wealthier 
tlass  considers  it  the  greatest  luxury,  and  the  real 
superiority  which  wealth  gives,  to  be  able  to  be 
out  of  doors,  walking,  sketching,  botanizing,  riding, 
driving,  almost  all  the  day.  Perhaps  this  is  car- 
ried too  far  by  the  "  spindle-side  "  of  the  family ; 
for  an  English  lady,  it  is  said,  knows  very  little 
of  the  practical  management  of  home  matters. 
She  secures  fine  health  and  a  well-stored  mind, 
but  her  hands  rarely  touch  the  household  machine. 
This  is  left  pretty  much  to  the  housekeeper  and 
the  servants  —  a  rank  heresy  in  the  eyes  of  a 
New  England  matron  who  possesses  "  faculty." 

We  soon  came  on  to  "  Strawberry  Hill,"  the 
home  of  Horace  Walpole.  A  high  wall  shut  in 
the  grounds  and  indeed  the  house  itself  from  the 
road,  though  glimpses  of  the  lawn  and  garden 
showed  that  they  were  charmingly  laid  out.  They 
were  not  open  to  visitors.  King  Louis  Philippe  at 
one  time  lived  here.  Here  the  cunning  letter- 
writer  sat  like  a  spider,  and  drew  into  his  brilliant 
dew-spangled  country  web  all  things,  characters, 
history,  and  gossip,  that  was  rife  in  his  day.  He 
-ucked  the  life  out  of  his  times,  and  sometimes 
ejected  his  poison  also  into  them.  "  That  was  the 
great  event  in  the  day,"  some  one  has  said,  "  when 
the  mail  was  made  up  at  Strawberry  Hill."  It 
may  be  remembered  that  in  one  of  his  letters  he 
speaks  of  "  a  young  Mr.  Burke,  who  wrote  a  book 
m  the  style  of  Lord  Bohngbroke,  that  was  much 
idmired." 


SO  OLD  ENGLAND 

Leaving  the  Teddington  Road  upon  our  right,  J 
drove  on  through  a  shaded  lane  to  Twickenham, 
passing  by  the  spot  where  Pope's  villa  once  stood. 
It  must  be  acknowledged  that  these  wits,  Wai- 
pole,  Pope,  Thomson,  and  their  London  fellow- 
poets  who  ruralized  in  the  vicinity,  had  good 
taste.  The  Thames  lies  in  broad,  silvery  reaches 
in  the  vale  of  Twickenham,  with  gem-like  islets  ; 
and  "  Richmond  Hill  "  is  a  green  cockney  Parnas- 
sus. We  do  not  wonder  that  the  neighborhood  of 
London  gave  a  tinge  of  the  artificial  sublime  to 
their  productions.  Pope  could  not  forget  that 
the  brilliant  Lord  Bolingbroke  was  to  have  the 
reading  of  his  verses,  and  that  they  would  be  dis- 
cussed by  befrilled  gallants  at  the  clubs.  He 
never  got  at  the  heart  of  Nature  or  man.  If  he 
"  scorned  the  city  and  its  meaner  ways,"  and  the 
smiles  of  the  great,  and  the  shams  of  polite  life,  and 
drew  pastoral  pictures  of  humanity,  it  was  still  "the 
pride  that  apes  humility."  Give  me  poor  Cowper's 
more  denial  and  honest  love  of  Nature,  and  of  man, 
with  all  his  diseased  fancies  !  He  did  scorn  the 
mean  and  evil  things  of  his  day,  and  sought  his 
refuse  in  the  solaces  of  Nature,  his  own  heart,  and 

CD 

the  Divine  Word. 

At  Twickenham  is  a  French  colony  of  royal  ex- 
'les.  Orleans  House,  beautifully  situated  near  the 
•iver,  where  the  Due  d'Aumale  now  lives,  was 
purchased  by  his  father  Louis  Philippe.  The  story 
3  told  here  with  gusto  that  when  the  king,  undo- 
ne name  of"  Mr.  Smith,"  applied  to  the  man  wh<? 


ENVIRONS   OF  LONDON.  81 

had  the  care  of  the  house,  in  order  to  look  at  it,  he 
recognized  in  him  a  person  whom  he  had  pre- 
viously known  when  he  lived  in  this  neighborhood. 
He  said,  "  I  have  seen  you  before,  have  I  not  ?  " 

"  It    may    be,    I    was    once    gardener   at ." 

"  Well,  what  do  you  do  now  ?  "  "  Now  I  keep 
the  '  Crown.' :  "Ah,"  said  the  ex-monarch  with 
a  shrug,  "  I  tried  to  keep  the  Crown  too,  but  I  did 
not  succeed."  Claremont  House,  where  the  old 
Queen  Amelia  lived,  is  some  distance  away  from 
the  river  to  the  right.  We  drove  over  the  mead- 
ows  and  crossed  Richmond  Bridge,  climbing  up 
that  long  and  far-famed  hill,  to  the  "  Star  and  Gar- 
ter Hotel."  With  everv  evidence  of  the  most 
sumptuous  abundance,  I  could  not  get  a  morsel  of 
luncheon,  and  was  decidedly  informed  that  it  was 
impossible  to  be  served,  —  that  orders  must  be  left 
four  hours  beforehand.  This  was  true,  as  every- 
body in  England  must  dine  alone,  and  all  the  rooms 
were  occupied.  After  enjoying  the  fine  view  from 
the  terrace  of  the  hotel,  over  the  valley,  park,  and 
river,  softened  with  a  delicate  golden  haze  of  early 
summer  afternoon,  I  went  on  to  Kew.  Here,  at  a 
neat  inn,  I  met  with  a  better  reception,  and  when 
the  strawberries  and  cream  were  finished,  was  pre- 
pared to  enjoy  a  walk  in  the  Gardens.  They  are  ^  x~* 
the  largest  public  gardens  in  England.  They  for- 
merly belonged  to  the  Georges,  and  were  part  of  <u^r*r 
the  grounds  of  the  old  Kew  Palace.  Sir  Joseph 
Banks  in  his  day  was  greatly  interested  in  the  lay- 
Jig  out  and  nourishing  of  the  Botanic    Gardens, 


62  OLD  ENGLAND. 

and  j  lauted  them  with  exotics  obtained  by  himself 
in  his  voyage  around  the  world.  In  1841  a  new 
impulse  was  given  to  the  improvement  of  the 
grounds,  and  the  plan  was  adopted  to  make  this  the 
home  of  all  the  plants  that  grow  within  the  borders 
of  the  British  Empire,  the  world  over.  One  sees 
the  harmoniously  combined  beauties  of  all  parts  of 
the  earth,  and  the  marriage  of  the  tropics  with  the 
arctics,  as  if  it  were  Eden  from  which  all  things 
sprung,  or  a  restored  Eden,  in  which  all  things 
again  flourish.  Such  a  garden  makes  us  think  of 
the  physical  capabilities  of  the  earth,  when  it  shall 
be  brought  under  the  perfect  influences  of  Love, 
Light,  and  Order.  The  immense  "  Palm-house," 
or  "  Palm-stove  "  in  the  midst  of  the  garden,  is  its 
chief  point  of  interest.  From  it  three  broad  walks 
or  vistas  radiate,  one  of  them  running  nearly  a 
mile  to  the  river's  brink.  Its  hot-water  pipes  ex- 
tend 24,000  feet  in  length.  Beneath  its  glass  roof 
one  may  see  the  fan-leaved  trees  of  the  Pacific 
Islands,  and  the  spice-trees  and  banyan  of  India, 
the  caoutchouc,  the  cotton  and  the  indigo  plant. 

Near  by  is  the  tropical  "Aquarium,"  where  the 
glory  of  Kew  Gardens,  the  "  Victoria  Regia " 
from  South  America,  grows.  Here  also  the  papy- 
rus is  cultivated,  from  which  good  paper  has  been 
made.  To  the  west  of  the  "  Palm-house  "  extends 
the  "  Pinetum,"  a  grove  of  some  twenty-four  acres, 
devoted  to  coniferous  trees.  In  front  of  the 
M  Palm-house  "  is  an  artificial  pond.  It  is  delightc 
fill  at  the  calm  hour  of  evening  to  walk  in  a  garden 


ENVIRONS   OF   LONDON.  83 

like  this  when  the  flowers  are  sending  up  their  in- 
cense, and  all  colors  blend  together,  and  all  de- 
scriptions of  plants,  from  the  cedar  of  Lebanon  to 
the  lowly  English  laurel,  and  whinbush,  are  to  be 
Been.  The  humblest  ferns  and  heaths  are  not 
wanting.  The  heaths  of  Australia,  I  remember, 
were  particularly  beautiful. 


CHAPTER  V. 

HOMES  OF  ARNOLD  AND  COWPEK. 

Eighty-three  miles  from  London,  upon  th« 
London  and  Birmingham  Railway,  is  the  town  of 
Rugby,  anciently  Rokeby.  Although  Rugby  lies 
near  the  river  Avon,  it  has  little  natural  beauty. 
Speaking  of  mountain  scenery,  Dr.  Arnold  writes : 
"  I  only  know  of  five  counties  in  England  which 
cannot  supply  it,  and  I  am  unluckily  perched  down 
in  one  of  them.  These  five  are  "Warwick,  North- 
ampton, Huntingdon,  Cambridge,  and  Bedford. 
I  should  add  perhaps  Rutland,  and  you  cannot 
name  a  seventh  ;  for  Suffolk,  which  is  otherwise  just 
as  bad,  has  its  bit  of  sea-coast.  We  have  no  hills, 
no  plains,  not  a  single  wood,  and  but  one  single 
copse  ;  no  heath,  no  down,  no  rock,  no  river,  no 
clear  stream,  scarcely  any  flowers,  for  the  lias  is 
particularly  poor  in  them  ;  nothing  but  an  endless 
monotony  of  inclosed  fields  and  hedge-row  trees. 
This  is  to  me  a  daily  privation ;  it  robs  me  of  what 
is  naturally  my  anti-attrition,  and  as  I  grow  older  I 
begin  to  feel  it.  My  constitution  is  sound  but  not 
Btrong,  and  I  feel  any  little  pressure  or  annoyance 
more  than  I  used  to  do ;  and  the  positive  dullness 
of  the  country  about  Rugby  makes  it  to  me  a  mere 


HOMES   OF  ARNOLD  AND   COWPER.  85 

working-place.  I  cannot  expatiate  here  even  in 
my  walks."  It  proves  the  nobleness  of  the  man, 
that  during  his  vacation  rambles,  his  visits  to  West- 
moreland, and  his  journeyings  in  Switzerland  and 
Italy,  in  which  he  showed  the  bounding  enthusiasm 
of  a  boy,  he  always  kept  his  eye  steadily  on  uncon- 
genial Rugby  as  the  place  of  his  work.  He  had  an 
aim  in  life,  a  work  to  do,  which  he  placed  above 
the  cultivation  of  the  beautiful,  and  which  was  the 
most  beautiful  thing.  He  was  wont  to  repeat  the 
words  of  Bacon,  "  In  this  world  God  only  and  his 
angels  may  be  spectators." 

But  before  speaking  further  of  Dr.  Arnold,  or 
Rugby,  I  would  say  a  word  about  a  brief  visit  to 
Bilton  Hall,  the  home  of  Addison.  This  is  a  mile 
and  a  half  to  the  south  of  Rugby.  I  was  kindly 
permitted  to  see  the  house  and  grounds.  There  is 
a  fine  avenue  of  trees,  or  short  drive,  leading  up  to 
the  house,  which  last  is  not  seen  until  one  comes 
into  the  court-yard  itself.  It  is  an  old-fashioned 
and  picturesque  building,  rather  low,  but  covering 
much  ground.  Though  aware  of  the  historical  fact, 
one  naturally  asks  how  could  a  literary  man  have 
gotten  himself  housed  in  such  a  famous  old  pile  ? 
I  passed  through  the  house  into  the  garden.  This 
is  large  and  pleasantly  laid  out,  without  being  stiff. 
Beyond  the  garden  and  separated  from  it  by  a  wire 
fence,  is  an  ancienc  park.  There  are  no  orna- 
ments but  trees  and  smooth  lawns.  The  trees  are 
here  and  there  disposed  for  shady  walks.  A  little 
•ummer-house  upon  a  gre^n  knoll  near  the  mansi  >n 


86  OLD  ENGLAND. 

was  the  favorite  resort  of  Addison.  This  summer' 
house  is  particularly  mentioned  in  the  sketch  of  Ad- 
dison's life  in  the  "  History  of  the  Kit-cat  Club." 
It  was  an  agreeable  nook  for  well-dressed  Sir  Roger 
de  Coverley  with  his  moderate  and  well-regulated 
love  of  Nature,  to  take  his  philosophical  siesta  in 
The  flower-garden,  especially  rich  in  roses,  and  just 
then  in  its  June  brilliancy,  was  directly  in  front  of 
the  house,  sending  its  delicious  perfume  into  the 
open  windows.  It  seemed  altogether  a  most  genial 
and  home-like  spot.  The  drawing-room  was  a  fine 
apartment,  hung  around  with  full-length  pictures, 
chiefly  historical,  among  which  James  I.  figures 
with  his  look  of  wisdom.  I  was  last  of  all  shown 
up-stairs  into  Addison's  study,  truly  a  contrast  to 
Henry  Kirke  White's,  or  even  Southey's.  It 
seemed  to  correspond  in  size  to  the  room  below 
and  here  Addison  wrote  much  of  his  "  Spectator,' 
walking  to  and  fro  the  length  of  the  room,  as  was 
his  wont.  There  was  the  very  table  (so  I  was 
told)  upon  which  he  wrote.  It  was  now  Avell  cov- 
ered with  books,  and  the  whole  apartment  bore  ev- 
idence of  a  refined  culture  in  its  present  occupants. 
How  could  it  be  otherwise  with  Addison  himself 
looking  down  upon  them  in  a  life-like  portrait ! 
The  features  are  handsome,  but  there  is  a  shade  too 
much  of  the  fine  gentleman  in  the  redundant  curls, 
open  collar,  and  brave  air.  The  portrait  of  his 
child,  "  Miss  Addison,"  as  the  waiting-woman 
called  her,  hung  by  his  side.  In  the  other  part  of 
Me  room  was  the  likeness  of  his  wife,  the  Countess 


HOMES  OF  ARNOLD  AND  COWPER.  87 

Dowager  of  Warwick,  a  very  good  face,  resembling 
Queen  Anne,  but  more  amiable  and  gentle.  Yet 
she  was  any  thing  but  gentle,  it  is  said.  There  was 
also  a  portrait  of  her  son,  a  slender,  aristocratic- 
looking  youth,  the  same  whom  Addison  summoned 
for  him  to  see  how  a  Christian  could  die. 

And  now  for  Rugby  School.  Its  battlemented, 
castle-like  walls  and  buildings  form  the  prominent 
object  in  the  small  country  town.  It  is  indeed  all 
the  place.  Its  army  of  boys  and  teachers  over- 
whelm every  other  interest  and  association.  The 
school  was  founded  in  Queen  Elizabeth's  day  by 
one  Lawrence  Sheriff,  a  London  merchant  born  in 
Rugby.  The  original  donation  during  this  long 
period  has  greatly  increased  in  value,  so  that  the 
school  enjoys  a  revenue  of  some  .£5000  from  this 
source  alone.  The  general  plan  of  the  school  is  as 
follows :  "  Any  person  who  has  resided  for  twc 
years  at  Rugby,  or  at  any  place  in  the  county  of 
Warwick  within  ten  miles  of  it,  or  in  the  adjacent 
counties  of  Leicester  and  Northampton,  to  the  dis- 
tance of  five  miles  from  it,  is  entitled  to  send  his 
sons  to  receive  their  education  at  the  school  without 
payment.  But  if  a  parent  lives  out  of  the  town  of 
Rugby,  his  son  must  lodge  at  one  of  the  regular 
school  boarding-houses,  and  the  expenses  of  his 
board  are  the  same  as  those  incurred  by  a  boy  not 
on  the  foundation.  B03-S  who  have  this  right  to 
the  advantages  of  the  institution  are  called  'founda- 
tioners,'  and  their  number  is  not  limited." 

Classical  studies  are  all  in  all  at  Rugby,  and  in 


88  OLD  ENGLAND. 

Arnold's  time  the  school  won  its  preeminence  in 
these  studies.  He  introduced  a  thorough  drill  in 
the  grammatical  elements  of  language,  that  laid  a 
sure  foundation  for  good  scholarship.  Nothing 
could  atone,  in  his  eyes,  for  grammatical  incorrect- 
ness, no  beauty  of  expression  or  ingenuity  of  con- 
struction. He  threw  new  life  into  the  readings  of 
the  old  authors,  by  opening  to  the  minds  of  his  pu- 
pils fields  of  illustrative  truth  in  history,  geography, 
ethnology,  and  art.  He  taught  his  pupils  to  dis- 
criminate between  different  ages  of  the  same  Ian- 
guage,  the  colorings  of  outward  circumstances,  and 
the  changes  of  idiom.  The  consequence  of  this 
training  was  that  Rugby  boys  have  studied  with 
the  zest  of  mature  minds,  and  have  taken  the  first 
stand  at  Oxford.  Arnold  also  had  the  courage  tc 
introduce  the  natural  sciences  and  the  modern  lan- 
guages into  Rugby,  and  though  it  is  said  that  he  did 
not  become  himself  a  perfect  German  scholar,  he 
has  done  for  England  what  Stuart  did  for  America 
he  opened  the  way  to  the  general  study  of  the  Ger- 
man in  English  schools  and  universities.  "  He 
changed  the  face  of  public  education  throughout 
England."  But  he  did  infinitely  more  than  this,  — 
he  drew  back  education  to  its  true  source.  He 
chased  out  the  spirit  of  a  negative  philosophy,  which 
separated  the  school  from  all  divine  influences  and 
nourished  a  deep  immorality.  In  the  discipline  of 
the  school,  and  its  entire  system  of  instruction,  he 
et  m  the  sunshine  of  the  Divine  Word.  He  chris- 
tianized the  school  as  he  would  have  done  th« 
itate. 


HOMES   OF  ARNOLD   AND   COWI'ER.  86 

The  buildings  of  Rugby  School  are  of  the 
square  English  Gothic,  and  are  of  considerable  size 
and  extent.  There  is  a  turreted  gateway  Tower, 
a  handsome  Chapel,  and  a  cloistered  quadrangle. 
The  whole  edifice,  however,  has  a  rough  look,  or 
the  boys  have  made  it  look  so.  What  building 
could  stand  centuries  of  boys  !  The  pyramids  have 
never  stood  such  a  test.  There  is  a  large  park 
upon  one  side,  with  great  elms  but  miserable 
scanty  grass.  The  whole  has  a  half-ecclesiastical, 
half-military  aspect.  I  was  introduced  through  a 
flower-embowered  porch  into  the  principal's  house 
and  study.  It  was  Dr.  Arnold's  room.  It  was 
the  room  where  "  Tom  Brown  "  had  his  heart- 
searching  interview  with  the  great  man.  The  por- 
trait of  Arnold,  with  its  intense,  almost  fiery  expres- 
sion, as  if  in  agony  with  some  brave  thought  or 
purpose,  and  other  pictures  and  busts,  adorned  the 
room.  Papers,  pamphlets,  and  books,  crowded 
every  part  of  it.  It  was  "  the  heart  of  the  con- 
cern," where  the  "  Head-master  "  wrote,  thought, 
toiled,  and  prayed.  I  was  allowed  to  visit  the 
whole  establishment,  and  had  considerable  conver- 
sation with  some  of  the  instructors.  Boys  under 
thirteen  or  fourteen  years  of  age  were  not  recom- 
mended to  come  to  Rugby,  as  the  system  was 
adapted  to  minds  and  characters  that  had  acquired 
Borne  tone  of  self-regulation.  No  one  can  remain 
lX  Rugby  after  he  has  reached  nineteen.  I  peeped 
into  the  boys'  studies,  minute  apartments  six  by 
four,    opening   into    a    large    arched    passage-way, 


90  OLD   ENGLAND. 

Here  was  amusingly  shown  the  natural  history  of 
a  school-boy's  mind.  The  arranging  and  orna- 
menting of  each  room  is  according  to  its  own  occu- 
pant's  particular  fancy.  Pictures,  plaster-of-Paris 
figures,  flowers,  whips,  boxing-gloves,  mingled  with 
maps,  slates,  and  books.  Here  was  the  boy  artis- 
tic, the  boy  athletic,  the  boy  commercial,  and  the 
boy  sentimental.  But,  on  the  whole,  pictures  of 
hunting  scenes  predominated.  The  boys'  un- 
leashed minds  evidently  ran  on  horses  and  dogs. 
Some  of  the  little  dens  were  as  neat  as  Shaking 
Quakers'  herb-stalls,  and  some,  say  most,  were 
genuine  hurra  -  nests.  I  may  have  passed 
"  Brown's  "  and  "Arthur's  "  room,  and  that  of 
their  queer,  bird-stuffer  friend,  but  I  did  not  know 
them.  It  is  a  good  idea  to  let  a  boy  have  a  place 
that  he  can  call  his  own,  where  he  is  lord  of  his 
own  castle.  This  breeds  contentment,  develops 
taste,  and  encourages  the  reflective  spirit,  so  want- 
ing in  the  hasty  mind  of  youth.  The  dormitories 
were  bare,  lofty  rooms,  the  scenes  of  many  a 
Waterloo  pillow-fight,  shy  prank,  and  hard  joke. 
No  wonder  little  Arthur  could  not  say  his  prayers 
'inmolested  here  !  The  class-rooms,  and  even  the 
loom  where  Dr.  Arnold  taught  the  illustrious 
"  Sixth,"  were  of  the  barest,  roughest  character. 
As  every  boy  is  allowed  to  cut  his  name  on  his 
own  desk  after  having  been  a  certain  time  in 
ichool,  the  desks  and  tables  are  horribly  hacked. 
Some  of  them  are  but  spindle-waisted  skeletons  of 
*'hat  they  once  were.     They  look  like  the  work  o: 


HOMES   OF  ARNOLD  AND   COWPER.  91 

Leavers.  One  hardly  sees  how  they  can  be  used 
for  the  purposes  of  writing  and  study.  Compared 
with  the  convenient  furniture  and  handsome  fit- 
tings of  modern  American  school-houses,  these 
apartments  appeared  semi-barbarian.  .But  there 
is  a  certain  pleasing  contrast  in  the  polished  classic 
culture  that  issues  from  these  rooms,  and  the  abso- 
lute savageness  of  their  whole  aspect  and  furnish- 
ing. Rugby  is  considered  rough,  though  standing 
the  highest  in  manhood  and  morals  of  all  the  Eng- 
lish  schools.  Eton  and  Harrow  are  the  aristo- 
cratic schools.  Shrewsbury  is  now  equal  to  any  in 
scholarship. 

The  Arnold  Library,  which  has  been  built  since 
the  Doctor's  decease,  contains  the  nucleus  of  a  fine 
classical  and  historic  collection.  I  noticed  among 
the  books  a  complete  set  of  Arnold's  own  works.  In 
the  yard  under  the  chapel  windows  we  saw  some 
young  Rugbyans  playing  racket.  Out  of  this  yard 
extends  the  broad  and  famous  "  Campus  Martius," 
the  scene  of  the  foot-ball  glories,     llugbeia  jloreat ! 

What  a  grand  spirit  of  movement  and  power 
A.rnold  infused  into  his  whole  system  of  instruction. 
It  was  a  mingling  of  the  best  idea  of  old  Greek  cul- 
ture  with  the  Christian,  in  which  the  body  should 
become  the  strong  instrument  of  the  trained  mind 
and  free  heart,  open  to  eery  pure,  high,  heroic 
feeling ! 

The  Chapel  is  the  culmination  of  the  interests  of 
vhe  spot.  In  the  north  transept  stands  the  monu- 
ment of  Dr.  Arnold.     It  bears  a  Latin  inscription 


92  OLD  ENGLAND. 

from  the  pen  of  his  friend  Bunsen.     Asa  specimer, 
of  monumental  Latinity  I  give  this  inscription. 

VIS.  REV. 

THOMAS.  ARNOLD.  8.  T.  P. 

HISTORIC.  RECENT.  SVl.  TRADEND.S.  APVD.  OXONIEN.  PRO.  REO. 

HV1VS.  SCHOLS.  PER.  ANNOS.  XIV.  ANT1STES.  STRENW3.  VNIOE.  D1LECTVS. 

THVCTDIDEM.  ILLVSTRAVIT.  HISTORIAM.  ROMANAM.  SORIPSIT. 

POPULI.   CHRISTIANI. 

UB2&TATEM.  DIGNITATEM.  VTND1CAVIT.  PIDEM.  OONFIRMAVIT.  SCKIPTLi. 

VITA. 

CHRISTVM.  PR-EDICAVTT.  APVD.  VOS. 

rVVENVM.  ANLMOS.  MONVMENTVM.  SIBI.  DELIGEN3. 

TANTI.  VIRI.  EFFIGIES.  VOBIS.  HIC.  EST.  PROPOSITA. 

CORPVS.  SVB.  ALTARI.  CONQVIESCIT. 

ANIMA.  IN.  SVAM.  SEDEM.  PATRE.  VOCANTE.  rMMIGRAVTT 

FORTIS.  PIA.  L^TA. 

KAT.  A.  D.  XIII.  JVN.  MDCCXOV.  MORT.  A.  D.  XII.  JVN.  MDCCCXLII. 

AMIOI.  POSVERVNT. 

The  windows  of  the  Chapel  are  of  painted  glass. 
One  of  them  in  commemoration  of  Dr.  Thomas 
Arnold,  is  touching  in  its  design.  It  represents 
the  meeting:  of  the  Saviour  and  Thomas,  with  the 
words  inscribed  beneath,  "And  Jesus  said  unto 
him,  Thomas,  because  thou  hast  seen  me  thou  hast 
believed ;  blessed  are  they  who  have  not  seen,  and 
yet  have  believed."  These  are  said  to  have  been 
anions  his  last  words.  Under  another  memorial 
window  there  is  a  plate  of  brass  inscribed  with  the 
names  of  Rugby  scholars  who  fell  in  the  Crimea. 
Everywhere  in  school,  and  church,  and  domestic 
fireside,  the  martial  ardor  of  the  youth  of  England 
is  nourished.  The  beautiful  death  of  those  who 
die  for  their  country  was  one  of  Arnold's  favorite 
themes.  We  do  not  stop  now  to  speak  of  this 
peculiar  trait  of  English  Christianity,  that  it  min 
gles  the  heroism  of  the  earthly  and  spiritual  soldier 


HOMES  OF  ARNOLD  AND  COWPER.  93 

Mid  blends  their  glories  as  it  were  in  one.  But 
here  the  true  soldier  of  Christ  lies  on  the  field  of 
his  glory.  Arnold  is  buried  near  the  pulpit, 
where  he  so  often  preached  in  living  earnestness 
and  power  to  fresh  young  minds.  He  pointed 
them  directly  to  Christ.  He  dropt  the  worn-out 
robes  of  dogmatism,  ecclesiasticism,  pietism,  and 
stretched  out  the  arms  of  love,  truth,  hope,  to  the 
young.  The  words  of  Dr.  Arnold's  favorite  morn- 
ing hymn,  from  the  German  of  Baron  von  Canitz, 
are  expressive  of  his  life  :  — 

"  Come,  my  soul,  thou  must  be  waking, 
Now  is  breaking 

O'er  the  earth  another  day; 
Come  to  Him  who  made  this  splendor, 
See  thou  render 

All  thy  feeble  powers  can  pay. 

From  the  stars  thy  course  be  learning ; 
Dimly  burning, 

'Neath  the  sun  their  light  grows  pale  ; 
So  let  all  that  sense  delighted, 
While  benighted 

From  God's  presence  fade  and  fail." 

Olney,  in  the  county  of  Buckingham,  or 
*'  Bucks,"  as  it  is  called,  is  situated  in  the  marshy 
valley  of  the  slow-winding  river  Ouse,  as  if  it 
nad  been  formerly  the  bed  of  a  wide  and  shallow 
lake.  Long  before  arriving  I  saw  the  spire  of 
John  Newton's  Church,  frequently  referred  to  by 
Cowper  as  a  grateful  way-mark  in  his  weary  pil- 
grimage. It  is  the  only  salient  feature  of  the 
otherwise  flat  and  melancholy  scene.  The  town 
ftself,    of   about   five   thousand  inhabitants,    is    on 


94  OLD  ENGLAND. 

very  slightly  rising  ground,  with  the  river  run 
ning,  rather  sleeping,  at  its  side.  Two  bridges,, 
or  one  bridge  in  two  parts,  cross  its  wide 
undefined  bed,  for  it  seems  to  have  no  particular 
current  at  this  spot,  but  generally  diffuses  itself 
around  in  stagnant  ponds  and  pools.  It  was  not 
the  river  to  rush  through  a  poet's  brain,  and 
cleanse  it  of  its  unhealthy  fancies.  The  very 
bridge  this  over  which  the  Postman  of  the  "  Task  " 
came  thundering  and  tooting,  — 

"  That  with  its  wearisome  but  needful  length, 
Bestrides  the  wintry  flood." 

I  drove  directly  to  Cowper's  house,  a  tall  red-brict 
mansion,  with  stripes  of  black  brick,  and  unde; 
each  window  an  ornament  of  carved  stone-work 
It  was  the  most  presentable  house  in  town,  and 
stood  at  the  angle  of  a  triangle  formed  by  the 
meeting  of  three  roads.  In  the  square  or  open 
place  .itself  was  one  large  tree,  which  must  have 
flourished  in  the  poet's  time.  The  house  seems 
to  be  now  cut  up  into  two  or  three  dwellings.  Its 
roof  also  has  been  altered,  being  made  a  plain 
shelving  roof,  whereas  it  had  formerly  been  a  bold 
parapeted  one.  The  front  room,  which  was  Cow- 
per's sitting-room,  is  now  used  as  a  milliner's  shop, 
and  is  filled  with  bonnets  and  caps.  The  amiable 
mistress  of  the  shop  did  the  honors  of  the  house, 
seeming  to  have  an  appreciation  of  Cowper.  The 
I'oora  is  very  small,  with  bay  windows ;  Cowper's 
bedroom  is  smaller  still.  In  these  rooms  the 
*  Task "    was  probably   written,   for  it  was   corn* 


HOMES   OF  ARNOLD  AND   COWPER.  95 

posed  for  the  most  part  in  the  winter.  Here  also  he 
kept  his  hares,  Puss,  Bess,  and  Tiny.  We  might 
see  a  faint  smile  pass  over  his  sad  face,  when  he 
wrote  of  one  veteran  member  of  the  famous 
trio :  — 

"  Though  duly  from  my  hand  he  took 
His  pittance  every  night, 
He  did  it  with  a  jealous  look, 
And  when  he  could  would  bite." 

The  garden  is  now  disjoined  from  the  house,  but 
still  exists  in  about  its  ancient  size  and  integrity. 
Its  present  owner  is  a  hospitable,  open-hearted 
man,  who  entertained  me  with  fruit  and  luncheon 
in  Cowper's  own  garden-house.  This  is  getting 
rickety,  but  still  stands.  Cowper  wrote  here  much 
that  bears  his  name,  and  this  same  little  summer- 
house  has  its  own  place  on  the  map  of  human 
freedom !  Here  he  used  to  sit  in  conversation 
with  his  friend  John  Newton  late  into  the  night. 
Newton's  house  is  just  beyond  the  garden,  over  a 
narrow  field  that  the  poet  called  his  "  guinea 
orchard,"  having  purchased  a  right  of  way  to  his 
mend's  house  for  a  guinea  a  year.  I  walked 
through  this  field  to  the  parsonage.  Newton's 
study-window  looked  directly  down  upon  this 
meadow.  Under  this  roof  these  two  pure  spirits 
held  sweet  counsel  together,  and  in  many  ways 
'important  results  have  flowed  from  their  apparent- 
ly accidental  friendship.  To  Newton's  influence 
the  world  probably  owes  Cowper's  poetic  works. 
From  that  eleven  years'  imprisonment  in  the  house 


96  OLD  ENGLAND. 

of  bondage,  flowed  forth  the  sweetest  spiritual 
songs  in  the  English  language.  Newton's  house 
is  now  occupied  as  a  vicarage,  as  it  was  formerly. 
The  present  young  vicar  of  Olney  showed  us 
Newton's  study,  an  attic-room,  ornamented  with 
Scripture  texts  painted  in  large  letters  on  the 
walls.  I  crossed  over  also  to  the  church.  The 
yard  and  the  church  itself  appeared  neglected.  It 
looked  like  an  earthly  rather  than  a  spiritual 
sheep-fold.  Newton's  pulpit  still  stands.  With 
what  feelings  must  he  have  given  out  some  touch- 
ing tender  words  from  the  "  Olney  Hymns,"  with 
that  almost  ever-vacant  seat  before  him ! 

I  called  upon  a  very  venerable  lady  of  the  name 
oi  Mason,  living  near  Cowper's  house,  who  re- 
members to  have  seen  the  poet  when  she  was  a 
little  girl,  and  was  frequently  at  his  residence. 
She  said  "  he  was  a  good  man,  but  quite,  quite 
reserved."  She  showed  me  a  poker  which  he  in- 
rented  for  his  friend  Sir  John  Throckmorton. 
She  said  very  simply,  that  "  if  we  were  good 
enough  to  go  to  heaven  we  would  meet  William 
Cowper  there." 

I  drove  over  to  another  well-known  home  of 
Cowper,  about  two  miles  distant,  "  Weston  Under- 
wood." He  removed  from  Olney  to  this  place  on 
account  of  its  greater  healthiness,  and  to  be  nearer 
the  Throckmortons.  The  house  called  "  The 
Lodge  "  is  a  superior  house  to  the  one  at  Olney, 
It  was  wreathed  over  with  a  luxuriant  vine,  ana 
•eemed  to  be  a  comfortable  mansion.     On  accourv 


HOMES   OF  ARNOLD   AND  COWPER.  97 

of  the  illness  of  the  lady  of  the  house,  I  did  not 
see  the  chamber  where  the  poet  has  left  some 
desponding  lines,  written  in  pencil  on  the  inside 
of  the  window-shutter,  dated  July  22d,  1795.  I 
cax'ried  away  a  branch  of  the  yew-tree  standing  in 
the  garden.  A  walk  in  "  The  Wilderness,"  near 
by,  brought  to  mind  the  poet  more  vividly  than 
any  spot  I  had  seen.  It  was  the  most  of  genuine 
Nature  that  he  enjoyed.  It  is  a  thick  luxuriant 
copse-wood  left  apparently  just  as  when  Cowper 
was  living.  At  the  end  of  a  shadowy  walk  stands 
the  bust  of  Homer  with  the  Greek  inscription. 
Here  are  the  monuments  to  the  "  pointer,"  and 
the  spaniel  "  Fop."  An  old  white  decaying  acacia 
in  front  of  the  arbor  seemed  like  his  own  leafless 
spirit,  seared  by  mental  disease,  but  kept  from 
dying  by  the  invisible  stream  of  a  divine  faith,  so 
that  it  now  stands  transplanted,  putting  forth 
leaves  and  blossoms  on  the  border  of  the  River  of 
Life.  Here  also  is  the  favorite  lime-tree  walk,  and 
beyond  this,  in  the  depths  of  the  Park,  is  the 
famous  "  Yardley  Oak."  So  thick  is  the  shade 
in  "  the  Wilderness,"  and  so  perfect  the  quiet, 
••hat  no  words  would  better  fit  the  place  than  those 
sf  his  own  simple  hymn  :  — 

"  The  calm  retreat,  the  silent  shade, 
With  prayer  and  praise  agree, 
And  wsanr  by  thy  sweet  bounty  made, 
For  those  who  follow  thee. 

'4  There,  if  thy  spirit  touch  the  soul, 
And  grace  her  mean  abode, 
7 


18  OLD  ENGLAND. 

Oh  with  what  peace,  and  joy,  and  low^ 
She  communes  with  her  God. 

**  There,  like  a  nightingale,  she  poun 
Her  solitary  lays, 
Nor  asks  a  witness  of  her  song, 
Nor  thiroU  for  human  pr 


CHAPTER  VI. 

WESTON    UNDERWOOD   TO    CHELTENHAM. 

I  made  (to  myself)  an  unexpected  discovery  in 
Weston  Underwood,  of  the  house  where  Dr. 
Thomas  Scott  once  lived.  Taking  in  Turvey,  a 
little  way  from  Olney,  where  was  Leigh  Rich- 
mond's home  after  he  left  the  Isle  of  Wight,  and 
much  of  interest,  in  the  history  cf  English  faith, 
is  comprised  within  this  circle  of  ten  miles.  New- 
ton, Richmond,  Cowper,  Scott,  —  they  may  be 
called  the  representatives  of  a  type  of  religion  that 
in  some  respects  was  narrow,  and  is  now  under- 
going changes,  but  they  were  the  faithful  of  their 
day  —  a  day  in  which  scholarship  in  the  illustra- 
tion of  divine  truth  was  at  a  low  ebb.  Dr.  Scott's 
house  stands  at  the  head  of  the  principal  street  of 
the  village.  An  intelligent  and  cultivated  family 
now  occupy  it.  It  is  not  the  large  thatched-roofed 
cottage  diagonally  opposite,  which  Hugh  Miller  sup- 
posed it  was.  It  is  strange  that  so  accurate  an  ob- 
server should  have  made  this  mistake.  It  arose 
probably  from  hearing  it  said  that  the  cottage  was 
formerly  the  parsonage.  Yet  Scott  clearly  defines 
tiie  situation  of  his  house  in  his  Autobiography.  In 
\  front  chamber  of  this  house  he  wrote  his  "  Com- 


100  OLD   ENGLAND. 

mentaries."  In  the  garden  stands  the  same  pear* 
tree  (a  wall-tree  covering  nearly  all  of  one  end  of 
the  house)  to  which  he  refers  in  his  Autobiography. 
"  In  fact  Mr.  H."  (his  landlord)  "  took  no  rent  of 
me  but  a  hamper  of  pears,  annually,  from  a  fine 
tree  in  the  garden,  for  whieh  he  regularly  sent  me 
a  receipt."  Cowper,  in  a  letter  to  John  Newton, 
sneaks  of  "  Mr.  Scott "  as  an  admirable  preacher, 
but  one  who  was  apt  to  spoil  his  sermons  by  "  scold- 
ino- "  too  much.  The  stone  church  where  Dr. 
Scott  preached  is  not  far  from  the  house,  a  solid 
structure  containing  monuments  of  the  Throckmor- 
ton  family.  This  was  a  Catholic  family,  and 
strange  to  say,  in  the  village  where  Scott  and 
Cowper  lived,  most  of  the  inhabitants  at  this  day 
are  Catholics. 

That  genial  though  thorough  Englishman,  "  Ar- 
thur Helps,"  has  made  the  remark  that  tempera- 
ment is  but  the  atmosphere  of  character,  while  its 
groundwork  in  nature  may  be  fixed  and  unchange- 
able. This  remark  might  explain  the  difference 
between  the  Englishman  and  the  American,  look- 
ing at  both  in  their  broad  national  traits.  It  has 
been  pleasant  to  me  to  think  that  deep  down  under 
all  the  changes  of  history  and  circumstance,  there 
was  a  common  root  to  the  two  nations,  and  that 
this  still  is  to  be  found.  The  temperament  of  the 
A.merican,  since  his  ancestors  landed  in  New  Eng- 
land and  Virginia,  has  been  affected  by  a  thousand 
new  influences.  More  oxygen  has  flowed  into  his 
soul  as  well  as  his  lungs.     His  nature  has  been  in- 


WESTON    UNDERWOOD   TO   CHELTENHAM.      101 

tensified.  His  sympathies  have  found  another 
range  of  objects.  But,  after  all,  it  is  hard  to  wash 
away  the  original  basis  of  nature.  Its  force  and  in- 
tegrity remain.  What  can  be  more  different  than 
a  genuine  Yankee  and  a  true  John  Bull  ?  Yes,  we 
can  say  they  are  no  longer  the  same  ;  but  still  they 
do  not  differ  as  an  Englishman  differs  from  a 
Frenchman,  or  a  German,  or  an  Italian.  Many 
unchangeable  qualities  belong  to  each,  though 
transformed.  I  have  an  American  friend  in  view, 
a  traveling  acquaintance,  who  has  the  distinctive 
American  traits  in  broad  relief;  and  I  should  be 
perfectly  willing  to  show  him  the  following  photo- 
graph. He  would  recognize  it,  laugh  at  it,  and 
glory  in  it.  He  worshiped  his  own  country.  He 
meant  that  everybody  else  should  know  how  great 
it  is.  There  was  nothing  that  America  did  not 
have  ;  there  was  nothing  in  fact  out  of  America. 
He  hated  an  Englishman  because  the  Englishman 
would  not  acknowledge  the  same  thing.  He  was 
ready  to  fight  England,  just  to  make  her  wake  up, 
and  open  her  eyes,  and  see  the  "  living  truth " 
about  America.  But  if  he  hated  an  Englishman, 
he  had  an  infinite  contempt  for  a  Swiss,  because  he 
considered  him  to  be  mercenary  and  not  to  be  de- 
pended upon.  In  going  ove~  some  of  the  wilder 
passes  of  the  Alps,  although  he  had  a  horse  so  that 
he  might  not  appear  to  be  mean,  he  would  not 
mount  the  horse  until  his  guide  happened  to  ask 
aim  if  he  were  afraid;  then  he  jumped  on,  and  rode 
unconcernedly  along  the  edge  of  the  most  terrific 


102  OLD  ENGLAND. 

abysses,  where  every  one  else  dismounted.  He 
told  me  that  he  had  never  had  a  sensation  of  fear 
in  his  life,  and  I  believe  him,  for  he  would  climb 
places  where  few  would  dare  to  follow  him,  and 
then  go  "  a  touch  beyond,"  and  dangle  his  legs  over 
the  precipice.  He  took  a  guide  rather  as  a  matter 
of  course,  for  he  always  found  the  path  himself,  and 
walked  ahead.  He  filled  his  pockets  with  small 
change  every  morning,  to  be  distributed  to  all  the 
little  children  he  met  during  the  day,  but  he  would 
rouse  the  hotel  when  he  thought  himself  cheated  to 
the  value  of  a  ten-centime  piece.  He  was  a  rich 
man,  and  had  made  himself  rich.  When  but  just 
begun  business  he  discovered  by  reweighing  an 
article  that  he  had  charged  a  customer  a  dollar  too 
much.  He  went  immediately  and  rectified  the 
mistake.  His  customer,  an  old  Quaker  gentleman, 
said  to  him,  "  Young  man,  thee  shall  never  be  the 
poorer  for  that  dollar."  "  And  that  dollar,"  he 
sf.id,  "  had  brought  him  thousands."  Every  thing 
new,  useful,  and  practical,  he  swooped  upon  in- 
stantly. He  spoke  little  about  the  Alps,  but  a  new 
style  of  bolt  running  upon  rollers,  which  he  found 
in  Switzerland,  he  was  much  interested  in,  though 
he  said  he  had  the  same  idea  himself  when  a  boy. 
Stone  stairs,  in  case  of  fire,  was  the  only  thing  I 
'jver  heard  him  acknowledge  as  something  pecu- 
liarly foreign  and  good.  He  did  not  like  any  thing 
because  it  was  old,  and  despised  a  "  battered  old 
torso  "  ;  but  if  a  work  of  Art  looked  nice  and  beau- 
tiful at  the  present  instant,  whether  new  or  old,  h« 


WESTON  UNDERWOOD    *0   CHELTENHAM.      103 

indulged  in  vehement  praises  of  it.  The  past  was 
past  with  him.  A  thing  must  be  entirely  up  to  ita 
professions,  for  the  slightest  respect  on  his  part. 
He  affected  to  scorn  sentiment  and  the  emotional, 
but  he  was  ever  doing  little  delicate  and  kind 
things.  I  discovered  accidentally  this  iron-nerved 
man,  who  prided  himself  on  his  sang-froid,  gazing 
with  bedewed  eyes  on  the  miniature  of  his  dead 
wife,  that  he  had  caused  to  be  painted  in  the  most 
exquisite  manner  by  Lamuniere  of  Geneva,  and  set 
about  with  enamels  of  forget-me-nots  in  a  casing  of 
massive  gold. 

Whatever  he  bought,  or  wore,  or  ate,  or  had, 
must  be  of  the  best  quality,  and  he  put  himself  on 
a  lower  seat  to  no  living  being. 

Now  in  many  things,  although  absolutely  trans- 
formed, do  we  not  see  here  the  original  English 
nature,  —  its  self-confidence,  uprightness,  courage, 
practicalness,  acquisitiveness,  womanish  tenderness, 
and  insufferable  pride  ?  He  disliked  an  Englishman 
for  the  same  reason  that  an  Englishman  disliked 
him.  But  is  there  not  here,  in  better  things,  a 
ground  of  future  union  of  the  two  nations  to  civil- 
ize the  world  ?  They  both  have  the  same  English 
"  pluck."  There  is  in  both  nations  the  same  love 
of  home,  the  same  capacity  for  religion.  They  are 
nations  that  do  have  a  conscience.  Therefore  they 
are  better,  and  worse,  and  greater,  than  other  na- 
tions. A  far  more  strongly  marked  comparison 
might  be  drawn  between  the  Englishman  and  the 
Grerrjs.\n.     They  too  are  not  mentally  or  morally 


104  OLD  ENGLAim 

antagonistic,  as  are  the  English  and  French,  but 
only,  as  the  Englishman  and  the  American,  tem- 
peramentally dissimilar.  The  chief  feature  of  dis- 
similarity consists  in  the  practical  directness  of  the 
English  mind,  as  compared  with  the  thoughtful  cir- 
cuitousness  of  the  German.  This  comes  out  amus- 
ingly in  conversation.  The  German  dwells  on  par- 
ticulars while  tenaciously  pursuing  the  main  track ; 
is  minute  and  episodical ;  must  examine  every  stone, 
and  turn  over  every  straw,  and  does  not  perceive, 
or  does  not  wish  to  do  so,  the  few  things  of  true  im- 
portance. The  Englishman  goes  to  the  other  ex- 
treme in  brevity  ;  marches  immediately  to  the  con- 
clusion ;  disdains  the  intermediate  ;  relates  a  fact 
and  gives  a  reason  without  obscuring  either  in  un- 
essential detail.  But  a  German  who  wishes  to  say 
"  I  went  home  from  the  Post-office,"  would  feel 
obliged  to  tell  every  corner  he  turned  around, 
every  person  he  met,  every  thing  that  every  person 
told  him,  and  every  thing  that  he  told  every  person. 
It  is  sometimes,  therefore,  a  small  torture  for  an 
Englishman  or  an  American  to  talk  with  a  Ger- 
man,  because  the  definite  fact  or  idea  which  he  is 
seeking  for  is  so  long  in  finding  expression.  But 
on  philosophical  and  scientific  topics,  this  systematic 
method  and  absolute  thoroughness  of  the  German 
mind  is  a  noble  feature,  while  English  bluntness 
and  American  rapidity  become  real  faults,  and  lead 
to  intellectual  superficiality.  Another  striking  dif- 
ference between  an  Englishman  and  a  German  is. 
that  if  the  former  has  in  him  any  thing  like  sent* 


WESTON  UNDERWOOD  TO   CHELTENHAM.       105 

merit,  he  tries  to  conceal  it  as  a  weakness  of  which 
ae  is  heartily  ashamed ;  the  latter  delights  to  make 
%  show  of  sentiment.  The  Englishman  hates 
scenes ;  the  German  revels  in  such  manifestations. 
The  Englishman  tries  to  look  contemptuous ;  the 
German  appears  rapturous.  The  Englishman  de- 
spises pipe-claying  and  outward  manifestations  ;  the 
German  glories  in  red  tags  and  demonstrations. 
And  since  we  are  in  for  it,  to  strike  out  in  the  gen- 
uine Macaulay  vein,  the  Englishman  has  an  island 
solitariness  of  temper;  the  German  has  a  conti- 
nental sociality.  The  Englishman  thinks  more  of 
himself  than  of  his  neighbor ;  the  German  thinks 
more  of  his  neighbor  than  of  himself.  The  Eng- 
lishman has  more  self-respect ;  the  German  has 
more  self-complacency. 

There  is  one  quality  in  the  English  character 
patent  to  all  observers,  which  is  one  of  its  least 
worthy  features,  —  suspicion.  Whether  it  be  so 
or  not,  there  is  almost  always  an  apparent  suspi- 
cion of  every  thing,  and  of  everybody,  in  his  looks 
and  conduct.  He  seems  to  be  suspicious  lest  his 
right-hand  neighbor  is  a  thief,  his  left-hand  neigh- 
bor an  artful  impostor,  and  the  man  who  sits  oppo- 
site him  a  humbug.  Sometimes  when  one  really 
supposes  he  is  on  terms  of  easy  confidence  with  an 
Englishman,  some  trivial  thing  happens  to  rouse 
the  old  John  Bull  suspicion,  and  your  pleasant  and 
intelligent  companion  is  instantly  transformed  into 
%  lump  of  ice  and  formality.  Perhaps  the  next 
time  you  meet  him,  he  will  either  not  know  you, 


106  OLD  ENGLAND. 

or  you  are  so  disgusted  as  not  to  know  him.  This 
suspicion  has  seemed  to  me  sometimes  to  poison  an 
Englishman's  own  happiness.  I  remember  a  little 
ncident  in  riding  from  Mansfield  to  Chesterfield 
through  the  Robin  Hood  forest  region.  The 
weather  was  good,  the  roads  smooth,  and  all  the 
company  seemed  to  be  in  excellent  spirits.  Two 
ourly  gentlemen  in  front  of  me  took  an  especial 
liking  to  each  other,  and  chatted,  and  joked,  and 
laughed,  till  the  groves  and  orchards  rang  again. 
Something,  however,  jarred  suddenly  in  their  con- 
versation, the  English  suspicion  seemed  to  creep  up 
into  their  faces,  they  looked  at  each  other  askance, 
the  conversation  dropped,  each  buttoned  up  his 
top-coat,  settled  himself  in  his  seat,  and  one  felt 
that  if  any  thing  more  occurred  between  the  two,  it 
would  be  to  pitch  each  other  off  the  coach.  This 
little  circumstance  had  an  evident  effect  upon  the 
whole  company.  Each  one  seemed  to  be  reminded 
that  he,  too,  had  been  too  free  with  his  neighbor 
with  whom  he  had  no  previous  acquaintance.  It 
was  in  vain  after  this  to  attempt  to  raise  a  conver- 
sation, and  rain  coming  on,  the  discomfort  and 
wetting  confirmed  this  unsociability  for  the  rest  of 
the  ride,  into  downright  savage  taciturnity. 

On  arriving  at  an  English  inn,  apparently  the 
same  chill  suspicion  meets  one.  A  prim  landlady 
receives  the  traveler  and  consigns  him  immediately 
to  the  laconic  offices  of  "  Boots."  He  is  shut  up 
alone  in  a  sombre-looking  parlor ;  is  obliged  to  ring 
Mid  ring,  and  ring,  for  the   most  common  and  in 


WESTON  UNDERWOOD  TO  CHELTENHAM.       107 

dispensable  services  ;  eats  his  dinner  alone  and  in 
silence  ;  and  when  he  leaves  is  besieged  by  the  inso- 
lent demands  of  three  or  four  understrappers,  to 
whom  he  is  net  aware  of  having  been  indebted  for 
any  assistance.  But  the  trim  and  pleasant-looking 
landlady  appears  again  at  this  moment  of  departure, 
with  the  invariable  courteous  commonplace,  "  I 
hope  you  have  passed  an  agreeable  time,  sir !  ' 

I  have  indeed  sometimes  amused  myself  with 
the  idea,  that  a  traveler  entering  an  English  inn 
is  looked  upon  in  the  light  of  an  intruder  upon  a 
private  family  circle.  He  can  get  little  informa- 
tion by  asking  questions ;  is  expected  to  keep  his 
own  room,  to  make  as  little  noise  as  possible,  and 
give  as  little  trouble.  In  traveling  in  England, 
one  meets  with  few  pleasant  personal  adventures, 
because  it  is  rare  that  an  Englishman  suffers  you  to 
assist  him,  or  suffers  himself  to  be  interested  in  you. 
I  asked  an  educated  Englishman  once  what  was 
the  reason  of  this.  He  said  it  was  English  phlegm. 
John  Bull  would  n't  absolutely  take  the  trouble  to 
ask  questions  or  answer  them,  to  sympathize  with 
others,  or  to  strive  to  win  others'  sympathies.  He 
prefers  to  sit  still  and  tranquilly  digest  his  plum- 
pudding.  It  is  hard  for  a  genuine  Englishman  to 
meet  a  stranger,  as  a  Frenchman  does,  on  the  neu- 
tral platform  of  well-bred  indifference.  He  must 
either  be  cool  or  hearty,  suspicious  or  all-confiding. 
[  have  found  in  traveling  in  England  thaV.  if  I 
could  cnastise  my  own  intemperate  nationality, 
»nd  not  let  it  stick  out  offensively,  that  I  soon  made 


108  OLD  ENGLAND. 

friends  with  Englishmen,  who,  in  the  end,  would 
volunteer  more  in  reference  to  their  own  failings 
than  I  should  ever  have  thought  of  producing  to 
them.  Mutual  pride  prevents  Englishmen  and 
Americans  from  seeing  each  others'  good  traita 
and  positive  resemblances.  And  all  Englishmen 
are  not  disagreeable,  neither  are  all  Americans  in- 
sufferable. There  are  the  pleasantest  and  sweetest 
people  in  the  world  in  both  nations  ;  so  there  are 
undoubtedly  the  most  insolent  and  contemptible. 
I  remember  one  evening  at  Bath  occupying  the 
coffee-room  with  one  of  the  most  agreeable  men  I 
ever  met.  He  was  not  only  a  cultivated  man,  and 
one  too  who  did  not  despise  an  American  book,  and 
who  lived  daily  with  our  best  authors  and  poets, 
but  he  was  an  Englishman  who  had  no  prejudices 
against  us  as  a  people,  and  where  he  disagreed  with 
us  did  so  in  a  manly  way.  He  was  a  genial  man, 
open  as  the  day.  He  was  a  Christian  man,  not 
dry  or  solemn,  but  the  heart  of  the  true  believer, 
the  fighter  against  all  wrong  and  meanness,  was  in 
him.  His  spirit  met  your  spirit  in  love.  So  free 
and  pleasant  was  our  talk,  that  it  was  near  one 
o'clock  before  we  parted.  During  the  evening,  an- 
other man  had  taken  his  dinner  in  the  same  room. 
While  we  were  conversing  upon  the  Crimean  war, 
he  had  joined  in  the  conversation.  I  could  not 
make  out  what  he  was.  He  v/as  neither  decidedly 
military  nor  decidedly  clerical.  He  might  have 
held  some  civil  post  in  the  army.  He  was  coarse 
»nd  there  was  something  about  him  that   did   no' 


WESTON  UNDERWOOD  TO   CHELTENHAM.       109 

ipeak  the  gentleman.  My  friend  thought  differ- 
ently. He  supposed  that  a  campaign  in  the  East 
might  have  roughened  him.  But  the  next  morn- 
ing he  came  into  the  room,  ordered  the  waiter  in  a 
peremptory  manner,  ate  his  meal  in  sullen  silence, 
and  neither  in  coming  in  nor  going  out,  although 
we  had  talked  together  the  night  before,  did  he 
make  the  slightest  sign  of  recognition.  After  he 
had  disappeared,  my  companion  raised  both  hands, 
pronouncing  the  awful  sentence,  "  Snobus  est ! " 
In  the  same  way  one  is  continually  encountering 
people  of  different  characters,  and  of  all  shades  of 
character.  One  man  is  obliging  and  another  rude. 
We  should  surely  not  forget  the  many  agreeable 
people  we  meet,  when  we  think  of  the  opposite 
ones.  In  traveling  in  other  countries,  I  have  fur 
many  days,  and  even  weeks,  been  thrown  in  com- 
pany with  English  persons  of  rank,  occupying  neigh- 
boring rooms,  sitting  at  the  same  table,  taking  the 
same  rounds  in  walking  and  riding.    Some  of  them 

©  © 

have  possessed  the  faculty  of  ignoring  the  pres- 
ence of  other  beings,  though  in  an  unexception- 
able way  ;  of  not  seeing  when  looking  ;  and  of  giv- 
ing to  perfection  the  "  stony  British  stare."  But 
others  have  good-humoredly  resigned  themselves  to 
what  they  may  have  considered  the  force  of  circum- 
stances, and  consented  to  recognize,  on  the  neutral 
ground  of  good  society,  those  about  them  who  were 
respectable  and  intelligent.  Should  we  go  away 
\nd  say  that  all  the  English  nubility  are  proud  and 
lupercilious  ?    Perhaps  there  might  be  even  hidden 


110  OLD  ENGLAND. 

reasons  of  considerable  weight,  why  common  po- 
liteness and  kindness  of  heart  should  not  be  mani- 
fested to  all,  if  felt,  though  it  were  hard  to  see 
this.  For  myself,  whenever  I  have  had  the  good 
fortune  and  skill  to  open  the  English  oyster,  I  have 
rarely  failed  of  finding  a  pearl.  Dr.  Bushnell  wa3 
about  right  when  he  said,  that  you  must  break  an 
Englishman's  head  and  walk  in,  and  you  would  find 
most  excellent  accommodations. 

In  the  neighborhood  of  Woodstock,the  road,  over 
hill  or  through  dale,  was  bordered  by  the  invaria- 
ble hedge-rows,  and  the  fields  divided  by  the  same. 
Yet  even  the  English  hedge  is  said  to  be  getting 
into  disrepute  among  the  farmers,  because  it  takes 
up  valuable  ground,  and  nests  so  many  predatory 
little  birds.  But  may  the  English  hedge  never 
give  way.  It  has  a  beauty  higher  than  any  spirit 
of  utility.  It  is  a  blossoming,  tangled  conglomera- 
tion of  briar,  rose,  and  thorn,  impervious  to  any 
thing  but  an  English  fox-hunter's  rush.  The 
Hawthorn,  or  White-thorn,  is  the  chief  basis  of  an 


English  hedge.     Its  thick,  luxuriant  foliage  is  of  a 
rich  dark  green,  and  its  blossom  is  of  pure  white, 


whose  delicate  perfume  in  the  months  of  May  ana 
June,  comes  on  every  breeze  over  the  fields,  — 

"  The  milk-white  thorn  that  scents  the  evening  gale." 

But  every  other  kind  of  blooming  running  thing 
mixes  up  with  it,  the  Wild  Rose,  the  Blackberry 
vith  its  colored  flowers,  the  Stone  Bramble,  the 


WESTON  UNDERWOOD  TO  CHELTENHAM.       11] 

«piky-leaved  Holly,  the  common  Raspberry,  the 
bright-green  Buckthorn,  and  the  Hazel,  whose  long 
tassels,  or  catkins,  are  the  first  blossoms  of  spring. 
All  these  left  to  grow  and  twine  together,  on  a 
sacred  ridge,  one  might  say  for  centuries,  then  we 
get  the  English  hedge,  —  to  be  seen  only  however 
in  its  perfection  in  the  South  of  England,  in  Dev- 
onshire, or  the  Isle  of  Wight.  Bloom  on  centuries 
more,  sweet  English  hedge  ! 

From  Mr.  Everett's  description  I  had  mustered 
up  very  splendid  visions  in  regard  to  Blenheim. 
They    were    not    entirely   realized.     The    gardens 
were  lovely,   they   might   be    called   magnificent ; 
but  the  park  and  grounds  for  miles  around  looked 
deserted  and  uncared  for.     The  water  of  the  arti- 
ficial lake  lay  in  broad,  stagnant  pools,  the  home 
of  bitterns,  piping  frogs,  and  mosquitoes.    The  im- 
mense palace  itself  of  yellow  limestone   was  rusty 
and  begrimed.     It  had  a  vast,  faded  splendor,  buf 
never  could   have   had  architecturally  a  very  im- 
pressive character.     It  is  heavy  and  strained.     Of 
the  interior,  the  Library  is  by  far  the  finest  roomu 
having  a  length  of  183  feet.     A  statue  of  Queen 
Anne  stands  at  one  end     The  "  great  Duke,"  with 
his  hooked  nose   and  decided  mouth,  like  a  later 
but   better  great  duke,  figures   everywhere   upon 
miles  of  canvas  and  fresco.     He  drove  six  marshals 
of  France  out  of  the  field,  bv*.  could  not  write  the 
English   language   correctly.     The  tomb  of  Marl- 
borough in  the  chapel  has  no  particular  meaning  or 
-oint.     It  is  a  huge,  cold,  and   pompous  pile.     A 


112  OLD  ENGLAND. 

modern  finely  carved  pulpit,  of  one  piece  oF  Derby- 
shire spar,  was  by  far  the  best  thing  in  the  Chapel. 
Marble  and  paint,  and  we  have  seen  Blenheim,  the 
great  Duke's  show-place,  built  for  him  by  the  Eng- 
lish nation  at  the  cost  of  half  a  million  pounds  ster- 
ling;! 

Just  by  the  side  of  the  Triumphal-gate  of  Blen- 
heim Park,  stood  once  the  house  of  Chaucer.  The 
gentleman  who  lives  upon  the  spot  allowed  me  to 
see  his  garden,  and  what  very  little  remained  of 
the  poet's  house.  He  told  me  that  he  himself  took 
down  what  there  was  of  it  to  construct  his  own 
dwelling ;  preserving,  however,  two  or  three  small 
arched  windows  which  he  built  into  a  wall.  He 
possessed  an  original  title-deed  of  Chaucer's  in  re- 
lation to  this  very  house. 

Woodstock  is  a  gone-by  little  town,  contented  to 
sleep  under  the  shadow  of  the  Duke  of  Marl- 
borough's wings.  It  makes  buckskin  gloves  and 
tippets.  It  is  on  the  south  or  opposite  side  of  the 
stream  upon  which  old  Woodstock  stood,  the  scene 
of  Scott's  novel.  The  palace  has  entirely  disap- 
peared. 

By  one  of  the  few  remaining  stage-routes,  I  rode 
from  Oxford  to  Cheltenham,  about  forty  miles.  It 
was  good  to  sit  by  an  old-fashioned  English  coach- 
man, and  behind  a  team  of  well-matched  nags.  A 
ringing,  musical  gallop  was  indulged  in  down  a 
gentle  plane  ;  and  as  we  drew  up  to  some  lonely 
"  Barley-mow  ,:  hostlery,  the  horses  reeked  with 
»moke  in  the  morning  air.     Not  long  atter  crossing 


WESTON  UNDERWOOD  TO   CHELTENHAM.       113 

the  Isis,  and  leaving  Oxford,  we  came  into  the 
neighborhood  of  Cumnor  Hall.  From  the  simple 
ballad  that  begins  with  a  picture  of  the  moonlight 
shining  on  the  towers  and  oaks  of  this  ancient 
place,  Scott  was  inspired  to  become  a  poet. 

We  passed  by  one  of  the  new  cemeteries  es- 
tablished according  to  a  recent  act  of  Parliament, 
requiring  all  burial-places  to  be  outside  of  towns. 
The  yards  belonging  to  the  Established  Church 
and  the  Dissenters  were  separated  by  a  high  wall, 
and  were  made  as  distinct  as  possible.  Can  it  be 
that  such  divisions  are  carried  up  to  the  tomb's 
mouth  ? 

The  town  of  Witney,  famous  for  its  blankets, 
but  now  gone  rather  to  decline,  lay  upon  our 
route.  It  has  a  fine  old  church  in  the  early  Eng- 
lish style.  This,  and  Burford,  presented  the  usual 
features  of  small  inland  English  towns,  —  one  wide 
street  of  sober  low  stone  houses,  more  picturesque 
than  neat,  with  frequent  open  butchers'  stalls,  and 
now  and  then  an  inn  sign,  with  somewhat  more 
of  bustle  about  the  inn  door  than  elsewhere. 
Shortly  after  leaving  Burford,  and  before  coming 
to  Northleach,  we  left  Oxfordshire  and  entered 
Gloucestershire.  Our  ride  was  through  a  farming 
and  grazing  country,  a  region  celebrated  for  its 
wool-raising.  There  is  a  notion  that  one  kind  of 
land  makes  good  mutton  and  another  good  wool. 
In  the  farm-yards,  with  their  high  stone  walls, 
*tood  immense  symmetrical  straw-ricks,  partially 
tut,  aid   as  precisely  as  a  wedding-cake.     Great 

8 


114  OLD  ENGLAND. 

differences  in  the  neatness  of  yard,  and  house,  and 
fields,  were  observable  here,  as  in  other  countries. 
All  the  farmers  were  not  thrifty,  as  all  doubtless 
were  not  intelligent.  Before  reaching  Cheltenham 
we  drove  over  a  very  high  range  of  country,  com- 
manding fine  prospects  into  the  vales  of  Evesham, 
Tewksbury,  and  Worcester,  even  as  far  as  the 
Malvern  Hills.  This  is  said  to  be  an  exceedingly 
bleak  and  storm-swept  region  in  winter.  At  Chel« 
tenham  I  stopped  at  the  ancient  "  Plough  Inn," 
tow  a  fashionable  and  luxurious  hotel. 


CHAPTER  Vn. 

OH^LTENHAM,    BRISTOL,    AND    GLOUCESTEK. 

Cheltenham,  on  the  river  Chelt,  under  the 
Cctswold  hills,  is  a  well-grown  city  of  some  40,000 
inhabitants.  It  is  one  of  those  peculiar  English 
towns  where  our  serious  "  Motherlanders  "  gather 
themselves  together  to  enjoy  and  display  their 
wealth  in  fine  equipages,  elegant  assemblies,  and  a 
nice  union  of  gayety  with  comfort.  It  is  not  one 
of  those  migratory  and  butterfly  watering-places 
that  shines  for  a  month  or  so ;  but  it  is  a  place 
where  people  have  a  good  time  all  winter  long, 
where  they  live  in  their  own  substantial  stone 
villas.  I  was  in  Cheltenham  at  the  dull  season, 
and  the  heat  was  oppressive.  The  Assembly 
Rooms,  and  Pump  Rooms,  and  the  spacious  orna- 
mental grounds  at  Pittville,  were  all  in  the  highest 
condition  of  neatness,  but  quite  solitary  and  de- 
serted. The  pleasantest  incident  in  my  visit  was 
the  privilege  of  seeing  Lord  Northwick's  immense 
collection  of  paintings  at  Thirlestane  House,  before 
it  was  scattered.  It  was  like  visiting  one  of  the 
public  galleries  of  the  Continent.  It  is  marvelous 
how  one  man's  purse,  and  one  man's  will,  and  one 
man's  nfe,  could  have  brought  together  so  many 


116  OLD  ENGLAND. 

precious  works  of  Art.  Few  kings  have  had  such  a 
collection.  With  some  trash,  the  gallery  abounded 
in  original  works  of  the  great  masters.  Titians, 
Van  Dycks,  Raphaels,  Rubenses,  were  plentiful. 
The  portrait  of  the  Duke  d'Urbino,  taken  in  a 
common  dress  trimmed  with  fur,  and  a  black  hat, 
is  one  of  Raphael's  finest  pictures.  It  has  large 
animated  eyes,  and  is  full  of  life.  If  he  had  not 
painted  the  Transfiguration,  the  Sistine  Madonna, 
and  the  School  of  Athens,  Raphael  would  ha  ye 
been  immortal  by  his  portraits.  How  manly  and 
honest  they  are !  The  gloomy  and  imaginative 
^Z  picture  of  Salvator  Rosa,  called  "  L'Umana  Fragi- 
lata,"  was  one  of  the  glories  of  the  collection. 
Even  in  Italy  there  is  no  more  characteristic  or 
powerful  specimen  of  this  painter's  genius.  The 
coloring  is  deep,  with  strong  contrasts.  Life  and 
death  seem  to  mingle  in  the  picture.  There  was 
an  odd  but  vigorous  picture  of  "  Jacob  and  the 
Mandrakes,"  by  Murillo.  I  noticed  also  a  highly 
finished  "  St.  Jerome,"  by  Albert  Diirer,  and  a 
"  St.  John,"  full  of  feeling,  by  Guido.  There 
were  two  very  beautiful  Claudes,  one  of  them  a 
sunset.  There  were  many  noble  paintings  of  the 
Spanish  school.  The  older  Flemish  and  German 
masters  were  fully  represented.  The  collection 
was  rich  in  Cuyps ;  but  especially  in  Ruysdaels. 
One  might  there  have  been  convinced,  if  not 
before,  of  the  power  of  this  last  painter.  He 
gives  the  rush  of  torrents,  the  movement  of  rivers, 
the  grandeur  of  rock   and   precipice,  the  still-lifv 


CHELTENHAM,  BRISTOL,  AND  GLOUCESTER.       117 

m  the  depth  of  forests,  the  aspects  of  unchanged 
Nature,  with  unequaled  freshness  and  boldness 
Though  all  the  great  modern  artists  seemed  to  be 
present  in  their  familiar  works,  I  did  not  see  a 
single  Turner.  Perhaps  the  old  lord,  who  died 
at  eighty-nine,  and  who  was  whimsically  inde- 
pendent and  fastidious  in  his  taste,  would  not  give 
in  in  his  old  age  to  Turner  and  Ruskin,  but  re- 
mained true  to  his  Claudes,  and  Gainsboroughs, 
and  sweet  old  English  landscapes.  We  saw  the 
little  desk  where  he  was  accustomed  to  sit,  with 
two  small  pictures  of  a  church  aisle,  and  of  an  old 
beggar's  head  hanging  over  it.  His  life  was  un- 
doubtedly lengthened  through  his  love  of  Art.  He 
lived  in  his  gallery ;  and  when  he  could  find  any 
one  like-minded,  who  would  walk  with  him  through 
the  rooms,  he  would  pour  out  immense  erudition 
in  relation  to  Art  and  artists.  But  he  was  willing 
to  explain  his  pictures  to  the  common  laborer  and 
the  child,  and  to  instruct  all  in  the  method  of  com- 
prehending and  studying  paintings.  He  left  no 
will ;  and  his  intentions  in  regard  to  this  vast  col- 
lection were  not  then  certainly  known.  But  these 
choice  paintings,  these  cases  of  historical  gems, 
these  bronzes,  marbles  and  cameos,  these  thousana 
objects  which  to  the  smallest  of  them  bore  the 
stamp  of  mind,  were  to  be  separated,  some  of  them 
Derhaps  finding  their  way  back  to  their  native 
shores.  They  were  soon  afterward  sold  at  public 
sale,  and  found  purchasers,  if  I  am  rightly  in- 
formed, from   many  different  lands.     One   hardly 


ll8  OLD  ENGLAND. 

sees  what  great  purpose  such  a  stupendous  gallery, 
formed  at  such  cost  and  care,  and  suddenly  falling 
into  its  ten  thousand  original  parts,  could  have 
answered.  If  it  were  merely  for  the  enjoyment 
of  one  man  it  looks  selfish.  But  doubtless  many 
English  artists  have  received  here  their  first  in- 
spiration ;  and  in  a  quiet  way  it  may  have  served 
to  mould  and  refine  the  taste  of  the  land. 

In  a  small  stone  mansion  at  Cheltenham,  called 
the  "  Georgiana  Villa,"  Lord  Byron,  it  is  said, 
composed  the  "  Corsair."  He  did  not  do  it  sitting 
in  a  stalactite  cavern  in  one  of  the  rocky  isles  of 
Greece,  as  Byron-mad  youth  might  imagine.  But 
if  the  noble  lord  had  gone  to  his  own  Sherwood 
Forest,  or  to  the  Malvern  Hills  near  by,  or  over 
the  Severn  into  rocky,  legendary  Monmouth,  or 
along  the  bold  and  romantic  shores  of  Devonshire, 
he  would  have  found  a  much  better  English  hero, 
and  as  lovely  scenery. 

Among  the  pleasant  drives  about  Cheltenham, 
one  may  visit  the  fountain-head  of  the  Thames, 
on  the  road  to  Birdlip.  It  is  a  small  pond  of  very 
clear  and  sweet  water,  shaded  with  trees.  Here  is 
the  meeting  of  seven  springs. 

Let  us  now,  without  going  through  the  details 
of  the  journey,  find  ourselves  in  Bristol,  a  dirty 
old  business  city,  but  with  aristocratic  suburbs,  and 
not  without  some  interest  to  the  stranger  in  itself. 
In  the  ancient  church  of  St.  Mary  Iladcliffe,  situ- 
ated in  a  still  and  deserted  quarter  of  Bristol,  ono 
Snds  more  architectural  riches  than  in  the  Cathe* 


CHELTENHAM,  BRISTOL,  AND   GLOUCESTER.      119 

dral,  which  is  chiefly  interesting  as  containing  the 
monument  of  Bishop  Butler,  that  most  massive  of 
reasoners,  who  marked  out  for  all  time  the  affinities 
between  religion  and  the  constitution  and  course 
of  Nature.  The  inscription  upon  the  monument 
was  written  by  Southey.  The  exterior  of  St.  Mary 
Radcliffe  is  extremely  worn  and  black,  but  its  inte- 
rior is  one  of  the  finest  examples  of  the  pure  Per- 
pendicular Gothic  that  there  is  in  England.  An 
intenser  interest  attaches  to  it  as  the  place  where 
young  Chatterton  wrought  his  wondrous  literary 
forgery.  I  climbed  the  narrow  stone  stairs  of  one 
of  the  transept  towers,  so  often  bounded  up  by  the 
feet  of  Chatterton  on  his  stealthy  and  mysterious 
errand,  and  entered  the  small  open-windowed  and 
many-sided  room,  where  are  still  the  two  old  chests 
in  which  he  pretended  to  have  found  the  Rowley 
manuscripts.  The  windows  look  out  over  the  city, 
with  its  red  roofs,  and  many  hollows,  hills,  and  ir- 
regularities. From  this  strange  and  lofty  study, 
open  to  the  air  and  birds  of  heaven,  how  often  did 
he  look  down  on  the  toiling  city,  feeling  himself 
entirely  cut  off  from  all  that  glowing  human  life. 
It  was  singular  to  be  alone  in  the  room  where  that 
young  and  restless  mind  worked  so  intensely  upon 
*  lie !  Having  once  conceived  the  idea  as  a  flash 
of  fancy,  did  he  not  almost  begin  to  believe  it  him- 
self, and  really  to  live  in  that  old  world  of  romance 
and  battle  ?  Would  that  then  he  could  have  had 
one  true  friend  of  genuine  heart  and  wisdom.  If 
Southey  or  Coleridge  had  been  living,  instead   of 


120  OLD  ENGLAND. 

Horace  Walpole,  how  different  would  have  been 
the  event.  The  chests  are  rough  affairs,  and  the 
liveliest  imagination  cannot  make  any  thing  more 
of  them  than  old  coal-boxes.  They  are  now  much 
decayed,  though  some  large  nails  still  remain  in 
them.  But  they  are  more  like  rough  troughs  than 
those  carefully  made  and  iron-bound  "  chestes"  in 
which  precious  things  were  anciently  deposited. 

Chatterton,  it  is  said,  would  roam  in  the  fields 
about  Bristol  the  whole  Sabbath  long,  and  lie 
stretched  on  the  grass  gazing  at  the  tower  of  old 
St.  Mary's  Church.  He  preferred  to  write,  it  is 
said,  by  moonlight.  He  was  but  seventeen  years 
and  nine  months  old  when  he  died. 

Broadmead  Chapel  is  situated  at  the  opposite 
extreme  of  the  city  from  the  Church  of  St.  Mary 
Radcliffe,  and  is  outside  of  the  old  walls.  It  is  in 
the  commercial,  or  sailor  quarter  of  the  city.  I 
approached  it  by  a  long  back  street  lined  with  little 
shops  for  the  sale  of  old  clothes,  old  iron,  ship  fur- 
niture, etc.,  and  sprinkled  freely  with  tap-rooms, 
decorated  with  their  red-baize  curtains.  Nothing 
in  particular  indicated  the  fact  of  a  church,  but  a 
little  notice  upon  the  door  of  a  block  of  houses. 
The  portress  admitted  me  into  the  chapel  through 
some  low  entries  ;  and  it  seemed  to  be  a  room  situ- 
ated between  two  streets,  and  all  about  it  was  so 
filled  in  with  houses  and  shops,  that  no  one  would 
suspect  that  there  was  such  a  chapel  there.  It  is 
\tself  a  small  church,  capable  of  seating  perhaps  at 
ihe  largest  estimate  five  hundred  people,  and  as 


oliELTENHAM,  BRISTOL,  AND  GLOUCESTER.     121 

plain  as  plain  could  be.  There  weie  three  pillars 
on  a  side,  supporting  low  galleries.  A  black  iron 
chandelier  hung  in  the  centre.  The  pulpit  was  of 
painted  wood,  and  clamped  together,  where  it  had 
been  broken,  with  common  iron  bands.  It  had  no 
ornament  of  any  kind.  And  here  preached  the 
prince  of  preachers,  Robert  Hall.  The  visit  would 
have  done  any  one  good.  It  taught  both  humility 
and  hope.  Here  a  great  genius  was  content  to 
labor  for  his  Master.  The  place  does  not  make  a 
man  small  or  great.  A  little  marble  slab,  on  the 
wall  by  the  side  of  the  pulpit,  bore  three  inscrip- 
tions to  three  ministers  of  the  chapel.  The  middle 
one  was  in  these  words  :  "  The  Rev.  Robt.  Hall, 
A.  M.  Pastor  of  this  church  5  years.  Died  21st 
Feb'y,  1831,  aged  Sti."  I  went  into  the  vestry 
where  he  used  to  retire  after  preaching,  to  throw 
himself  upon  a  bench  in  perfect  agony.  It  was  the 
merest  miniature  of  a  room.  In  an  adjoining 
apartment  hang  the  portraits  of  Robert  Hall,  John 
Foster,  and  other  distinguished  Baptist  ministers. 
The  elderly  woman,  looking  upon  his  portrait, 
(which  represents  him  as  leaning  on  his  desk,  and 
simply  raising  his  hand  from  the  Bible,)  said,  "  I 
remember  Mr.  Hall  very  well,  and  that  was  all  the 
gesture  he  made."  But  Robert  Hall  could  not  be 
hid  any  more  than  a  mountain.  His  strength  lay 
in  the  solidity  of  his  intellect.  The  intellectual 
element  predominated.  His  massive  mind  pene- 
trated by  the  pure  weight  of  thought  to  the  depths 
of  subjects.    There  was  joined  to  this  a  great  power 


122  OLD  ENGLAND. 

of  moial  feeling  and  of  burning  indignation  against 
all  untruth.  He  apprehended  clearly  the  far-off  and 
most  distant  results  of  wrong  opinions,  and  this  made 
him  a  powerful  moral  reasoner  for  his  age.  What 
great  trains  of  thought  run  in  expanding  light 
through  his  eloquent  argument  on  Modern  Infi- 
delity !  And  how  marvelously  his  style  blends  the 
totally  opposite  qualities  of  simplicity  and  splendor 
of  diction  ! 

I  was  fortunate  while  in  Bristol  in  hearing  that 
remarkable  "  man  of  God,"  —  I  can  think  of  no 
better  name,  —  George  Miiller,  who  built  the  Or- 
phan Houses  at  Ashley  Down.  The  life  of  this 
primitive  Christian  is  well  known  in  America.  He 
was  born  in  Prussia  in  1805.  While  a  student  in 
the  University  of  Halle,  he  made  the  acquaintance 
of  a  body  of  warm-hearted  and  active  Christian 
disciples.  He  devoted  himself  from  that  time  to 
preaching  and  doing  good.  He  came  to  England 
in  1829  to  apply  to  the  Continental  Missionary  So- 
ciety to  be  sent  as  a  missionary  to  the  East.  He 
preached  for  some  time  at  Teignmouth,  living  upon 
the  small  voluntary  contributions  of  his  friends. 
He  was  a  man  of  child-like  faith,  who  practically 
believed  in  the  power  of  pra}^er  and  the  Father- 
hood of  God.  He  was  frequently  brought  down 
to  the  lowest  extremity.  He  and  a  Scotch  friend. 
Mr.  Craik,  removed  to  Bristol,  establishing  there  a 
/ittle  preaching  chapel,  which  in  its  temporal  affairs 
was  to  exist  on  the  same  principle  of  trust  in  God- 
He  was  led  to  do  something  for  poor  children,  anc 


CHELTENHAM,   BRISTOL,  AND  GLOUCESTER.      123 

to  found  an  institution  for  giving  them  a  relio-ious 
education  ;  and  he  commenced  this  plan  of  benevo- 
lence when  he  and  his  friend  were  actually  reduced 
to  a  single  shilling.  For  the  pressing  wants  of 
himself  and  the  poor  children  he  made  particular 
prayers,  and  seemed  to  be  supplied  just  enough  for 
every  day.  He  established  in  this  way  a  "  Script- 
ural Knowledge  Institution  "  as  it  was  called,  and 
afterward  the  larger  "  Orphan  Houses."  This 
last  establishment  has  been  supported  entirely  by 
free-will  offerings.  At  some  junctures  there  would 
not  be  a  half-penny  in  the  hands  of  the  matrons  of 
the  houses,  to  provide  the  children  bread.  Yet 
Miiller  would  not  borrow,  and  some  providential 
event,  or  gift,  would  carry  him  around  the  point, 
into  smoother  waters.  He  personally  applied  to  no 
one  for  assistance,  but  it  flowed  in  upon  him,  as  he 
asserted,  and  who  will  deny  it,  through  the  power 
of  prayer.  He-  had  received,  up  to  1858,  ,£147,- 
607,  had  built  substantial  and  spacious  buildings  for 
his  Institution,  and  had  nourished  and  taken  care 
of  more  than  a  thousand  orphan  children.  This  is 
a  singular  tale,  and  I  trust  that  no  one  who  goes  to 
Bristol,  whether  he  looks  upon  him  as  an  enthusiast 
or  no,  will  forget  to  visit  George  Muller's  Orphan 
Houses  at  Ashley  Down.  He  is  a  thin,  black- 
haired  man,  quiet  but  with  flashing  eyes,  and  in  his 
gestures  and  expressions  givir.g  the  idea  of  great 
»nergy. 


124  OLD  ENGLAND. 

There  are  twenty-nine  churches  in  England  en« 
titled  to  be  called  Cathedrals.     Perhaps  it  would 
not  be  out  of  place,  for  the  benefit  of  young  read- 
ers,   to    name    them.     They    are    Bangor,    Bath 
Priory,    Bristol  ;    Canterbury,    Carlisle,    Chester, 
Chichester ;  Durham  ;   Ely,   Exeter  ;    Gloucester  ; 
Hereford;      Lichfield,    Lincoln,     Llandaff;    Man- 
chester ;  Norwich  ;  Oxford ;  Peterborough  ;  Roch- 
ester ;  Salisbury,  St.  Asaph,  St.  David,  St.  Paul's ; 
Wells,      Westminster,     Winchester,      Worcester ; 
York.     Of  these,  the  Cathedral  of  Gloucester  is 
neither  one  of  the  largest  or  smallest.     It  compre- 
hends the  whole  range  of  English  church  architect- 
ure.    Begun  at  the  latter  end  of  the  12th  century, 
and  finished  at  the  beginning  of  the  15th,  it  em- 
braces all  styles.      Its  nave,  foundations,  and  crypt 
are  Norman,  of  the  most  solid  and  massive  charac- 
ter.    The  sixteen  round  unornamented  and  ponder- 
ous columns  of  the  nave  are  majesty.     The  repose 
of  eternity  seems  to  sleep  under  their  shadows.    Tho 
ancient  Anglo-Saxon  phrase  of  "  God's  house  "  is 
aere  well  applied.     It  looks  unchangeable.     It  is  a 
place  of  rest.     The  stone  vaulting  of  the  ceiling  is 
also  simple  and  plain,    but  there  is  much  elegant 
Sower-work  and  tra<  ery-work  about  the  clere- story, 
the  windows,  and  the  western  end,  which  were  all 
later    additions.       This    is    the    chief    feature    of 
Gloucester  Cathedral,  that  it  mingles  massivencsj 
and  lightness,  simplicity  and  richness.     The  centra.) 
tower,  which  is  the  most  modern  part  of  the  build- 
ng,  is  the  perfection  of  elegance  and  harmony.     It 


CHELTENHAM,  BRISTOL,  AND  GLOUCESTER.      125 

is  like  a  full-blown  rose  on  an  oak  stem.  Its 
pieiced  and  open  tabernacle  work,  and  its  fretted 
clusters  of  graceful  pinnacles,  when  seen  at  a  dis- 
tance, form  a  rich  vision.  And  this  is  one  benefit 
of  these  great  churches,  that  they  afford  a  charac- 
teristic feature  to  the  town.  They  are  sacred  land- 
marks to  every  one  born  under  their  shadow. 
They  are  his  "  golden  mile-posts  "  on  the  road  to 
eternity.  They  are  hailed  by  him  when  coming 
home  with  joy,  and  make  his  first  involuntary 
thought  on  returning,  one  of  God.  Though  we  are 
apt,  in  America,  to  speak  disparagingly  of  these 
mighty  edifices  of  stone,  supposing  that  they  dero- 
gate from  the  spiritual  temple,  I  am  not  disposed, 
for  one,  to  yield  up  too  easily  an  early  enthusiasm 
for  them. 

Gloucester  Cathedral  has  felt  the  modern  move- 
ment in  England  to  restore  the  old  churches.  And 
this  is  chiefly  apparent  in  the  complete  renovation 
of  its  noble  cloisters,  only  they  look  too  new  and 
staring.  They  are  the  most  perfect  in  England,  and 
perhaps  in  the  world.  Their  low-branching  fan- 
tracery  ceiling  is  like  travelers'  descriptions  of  a 
thickly  arching,  low  bamboo  forest  in  South  Amer- 
k  a.  These  cloisters,  formerly  as  now,  were  entirely 
shut  in  with  glass,  which  in  ancient  times  was 
richly  painted.  They  were  habitable  places  ;  and 
were  not  alone  used  f:r  the  sober  walk  and  solitaiy 
■nusing.  They  were  evidently  employed  for  read- 
'ng  and  work  ;  as  the  little  adjoining  monks'  rooms, 
w  stalls,  now  testify. 


126  OLD  ENGLAND. 

Among  the  monuments  in  the  church  there  w 
cne  of  Duke  Robert  of  Normandy,  "  Robert  Curt- 
hose."  Tlie  effigy  is  carved  of  Irish  bog-oak,  and 
covered  with  a  wire  net-work  ;  its  legs  are  crossed, 
for  he  was  one  of  the  first  Crusaders  ;  the  head 
is  crowned  with  a  coronet  of  pearls  and  fleur-de-lis  ; 
the  body  wears  a  chain-mail  suit  of  armor,  and  his 
right  hand  grasps  his  sword,  which  still  bears  its 
ancient  coloring  and  gilding.  It  is  not  too  much  to 
say  that  this  is  the  likeness  (if  it  be  a  likeness)  of 
a  remarkably  handsome  man.  The  limbs  are  long 
and  gracefully  turned,  and  they  are  by  no  means 
so  stalwart  and  big  as  we  might  suppose  the  build 
of  the  strong  Norman  race  to  have  been.  The 
features  of  the  face  are  as  regular  as  those  of  a 
young  Greek  warrior.  There  is  a  mournful  inter- 
est attached  to  this  monument.  Robert,  from 
having  been  a  stirring,  bold,  ambitious  prince,  with 
a  life  full  of  adventure  and  fighting,  was  made 
prisoner  by  his  brother  Henry,  his  eyes  put  out, 
mk!  for  twenty-eight  years  he  lingered  in  misery  as 
a  close  prisoner  in  Cardiff  Castle,  Glamorganshire. 
He  was  the  eldest  son  of  the  Conqueror. 

I  said  that  the  pillars  of  the  nave  were  unorna- 
mented.  Their  capitals,  however,  are  strung 
around  with  meagre  but  curious  flower  and  carved 
arork.  Nothing  is  more  varied  than  the  Norman 
japital.  Its  shape  is  usually  that  of  a  bowl  trun- 
cated at  the  sides ;  but  its  carving  and  ornament 
are  exceedingly  diverse  and  fanciful.  Sometimes 
It  if-  braided  with  interlacing  lines  of  bead-work,  as 


CHELTENHAM,  BRISTOL,  AND   GLOUCESTER.      127 

if  hung  over  with  a  net  of  pearls.  Sometimes  it  is 
wreathed  with  large-leaved  flower3,  or  a  stiff  wide- 
ipreading  vine,  resembling  a  Corinthian  capital. 
At  other  times  it  is  like  a  number  of  bird's-nests, 
■yith  the  birds  sitting  in  them.  Then  a  strange 
monster,  or  dragon-lizard,  twists  around  the  bell  of 
the  capital.  Then  human  faces  appear,  sometimes 
of  men  holding  their  mouths  open  with  their 
fingers  ;  and  sometimes  of  female  heads,  or  the 
upper  half  of  the  figures  of  veiled  nuns  inter- 
lacing their  arms  around  the  column.  And  I  have 
been  much  struck  with  the  resemblance  between 
these  human-headed  capitals  and  the  Isis-headed 
pillars  at  Denderah,  and  other  temples  in  Egypt. 
Nor  is  the  resemblance  less  striking  between  the 
common  tulip-capital  of  the  Egyptians,  and  one 
rather  rare  capital  of  the  Norman  architecture, 
which  is  composed  of  a  single  bell-shaped  cup. 
All  architecture  came  from  the  East ;  and  the  in 
fiuence  of  the  Byzantine  style  upon  the  Norman 
is  very  direct.  What  is  Norman  architecture  but 
the  ancient  Byzantine-Roman,  still  further  modified 
by  the  gloomy  and  grotesque  fancy  of  the  North  ? 
It  has  the  ponderous  masses  and  round  lines  of  the 
older  Roman  edifice.  Sometimes  the  Norman  arch 
has  its  centre  above  the  line  of  the  impost,  and 
then  curves  inward  below  the  point  of  springing, 
making  a  perfect  horseshoe  arch,  thus  increasing 
the  resemblance  to  Oriental  buildings.  The  chapel 
ji  the  White  Tower  in  London,  and  the  little  Iffley 
thurch  near  Oxford,  are  among  the  best  example! 


128  OLD  ENGLAND. 

of  the  peculiarities  of  the  most  ancient  Norman 
architecture  in  England.  This  style  was  intro- 
duced into  Britain  by  William  the  Conqueror,  and 
continued  about  one  hundred  and  twenty-four 
years,  to  the  end  of  the  reign  of  Henry  II.,  in 
1189.  Then  came  the  first  true  Gothic,  or  Early 
English  style. 

Gloucester  is  beautifully  placed  in  a  broad  valley 
on  the  banks  of  the  Severn,  and  has  just  claims  tc 
its  British  name  of  "  Caer  Gloew,"  the  "  fair  city." 
It  is  a  city  which  mingles  largely  in  the  early 
history  of  England,  and  was  one  of  the  twenty- 
nine  principal  towns  of  the  Britons  before  the 
Roman  invasion.  It  was  "  Colonia  Glevum "  of 
the  Romans.*  Hengist,  Athelstane,  and  the  un- 
fortunate Elgiva,  wife  of  Edwy,  are  said  to  have 
died  in  Gloucester.  Here  Edward  the  Confessor 
lived,  and  the  Norman  kings  frequently  held  their 
court.  Henry  III.  was  crowned  in  the  old  Abbey 
church,  and  Edward  II.  was  buried  in  the  Cathe- 
dral. After  his  accession  to  the  throne  this  was 
the  residence  of  Richard  of  Gloucester,  of  whom 
Sir  Thomas  More  wrote,  —  "  Richarde,  the  thirde 
sonne  of  Richarde,  Duke  of  Yoi'ke,  was  in  witte 
and  corage  eqall  with  his  two  brothers,  in  bodye 
and  prowesse  far  under  them  both,  little  of  stature, 
ill  fetured  of  limmes,  croke  backed,  his  left  shoulder 
much  higher  than  his  right,  hard  fauoured  of  vis- 
ige,  and  such  as  in  states  called  warlye,  in  othei 
menne  otherwise,  he  was  malicious,  wrathful,  envi- 
ous, and  from  afore  his  birth  ever  frowarde.     It  is 


CHELTENHAM,  BRISTOL,  AND  GLOUCESTER.      129 

'or  trouth  reported  that  he  came  into  the  world 
with  the  feete  forwarde,  and  also  ontothed,  as  if 
Nature  chaunged  her  course  in  hys  beginnynge, 
whiche  in  the  course  of  his  lyfe  monny  thinges 
vnnaturallye  committed."  But  he  adds,  "  none 
euill  captaine  was  hee  in  warre." 

Gloucester  sustained  a  memorable  siege  by  the 
royal  army  commanded  in  person  by  Charles  I.  ; 
the  inhabitants  enduring  great  sufferings.  It  is 
likewise  not  without  its  interest  in  the  conflicts  of 
truth  and  religion.  Here  George  Whitfield  was 
born  and  preached  his  first  sermon  ;  here  Robert 
Raikes,  in  1781,  began  his  Sunday-school  enter- 
prise, which  vitalized  the  Christian  church,  and 
brought  back  the  primitive  spirit  in  respect  to  her 
fostering  care  of  the  young  ;  and  here,  above  all, 
the  good  Bishop  Hooper,  one  of  the  most  illustrious 
victims  of  the  Marian  persecution,  suffered  martyr- 
dom near  the  old  Minster  gate,  proving  that  he 
held  a  "  doctrine  that  would  abide  the  fire." 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

WORCESTER    TO   DUDLEY. 

For  those  who  are  traveling  about  England,  and 
are  of  necessity  left  to  spend  an  odd  hour  now  and 
then  in  a  railway  station,  there  is  nothing  more 
entertaining  than  to  look  over  the  books  in  the 
ample  stalls  at  the  station-house  of  every  consider- 
able town.  And  there  is  more  of  interest  and 
point  to  this,  from  the  fact  that  one  house  in  Lon- 
tf-'  don  (W.  H.  Smith  &  Son)  supplies  all  the  rail- 
►  ways  in  the  kingdom,  with  the  exception  of  a 
single  line.  One  gets,  therefore,  a  pretty  good 
idea  of  the  books  that  are  read  by  the  traveling 
community ;  and  this,  after  all,  represents  the 
more  intelligent  class.  Thus  we  may  approximate 
to  a  tolerably  correct  judgment  of  what  is  the 
living:  modern  literature  of  England.  Of  course 
we  do  not  expect  to  see  the  books  of  the  highest 
scientific  character  at  the  railway  stands,  though 
even  this  is  not  impossible  ;  but  we  find  there  the 
books  that  are  read,  that  seize  the  popular  mind 
and  heart.  One  finds  in  these  stalls  books  that 
glow  with  the  fresh  life  of  genius,  whether  they 
be  new  or  old.  Translations  of  the  Iliad  I  have 
frequently   seen.      Robinson    Crusoe    everywhere 


WORCESTER  TO   DUDLEY.  lol 

displays  his  peaked  cap.  Macaulay's  Lays  and  Es- 
says are  more  common  than  his  Histories.  Kings- 
ley's  vigorous  productions  abound.  Tennyson's 
poems  are  rarely  wanting.  Such  books  as  Hugh 
Miller's  "  Testimony  of  the  Rocks,"  and  Liebig's 
Chemistry,  and  works  upon  scientific  agriculture, 
are  generally  to  be  found. 

It  is  surprising  how  many  female  authors  supply 
this  every-day  literary  food  to  the  traveler.  The 
works  of  Charlotte  Bronte,  Mrs.  Browning,  Mrs. 
Stowe,  Mrs.  Gaskell,  Miss  Yonge,  Miss  Mulock, 
and  above  all  the  authoress  of  "  Adam  Bede," 
occupy  the  prominent  places  on  the  crowded 
shelves  —  a  delicate  index  this  of  the  high  and 
true  character  of  English  civilization.  In  few 
other  countries  are  women  suffered  to  instruct  or 
give  the  moral  tone  to  society.  The  writings  of  a 
George  Sand,  or  a  Bettina  von  Arnim,  are  read, 
it  is  true,  in  France  and  Germany,  for  their  ex- 
citing and  novel  spicery,  but  they  give  no  perma- 
nent nourishment  to  the  thought  or  life  of  the 
nation.  It  is  gratifying,  also,  to  see  how  many 
American  books  pass  daily  through  the  hands  and 
minds  of  the  English  public.  When  I  was  in 
England,  besides  Mrs.  Stowe's  writings,  which 
appear  at  all  book-stalls  and  shops,  Hawthorne's 
stories,  Irving's  and  Cooper's  works,  Arthur 
Coxe's  poems,  H.  W.  Beeeher's  "  Life-Thoughts," 
Dr.  Holmes's  works,  Prime's. book  on  the  East, 
Motley's  and  Prescott's  histories,  but,  above  and 
beyond  all,  Longfellow's  poems,  were  the   famil- 


132  OLD  ENGLAND. 

iar  hand-books  of  every  reading  person.  An  Eng 
Hsh  gentleman  told  me  that  Longfellow  Was  even 
more  generally  read  in  England  than  Tennyson. 
I  could  almost  believe  him,  for  I  have  frequently 
met  cultured  persons  who  could  quote  Longfellow 
freely.  He  is  really,  as  De  Quincey  says,  "pub- 
lished "  in  England.  He  has  struck  that  happy 
middle  chord  of  sentiment  and  fancy  that  vibrates 
in  the  English  heart  averse  to  high  excitement  and 
pure  idealism.  Wordsworth  was  metaphysical,  and 
gathered  the  select  circle  about  him.  Tennyson 
is,  perhaps,  too  subjective  for  the  present  money- 
making  age.  He  is  not  yet  altogether  understood. 
Longfellow  plays  upon  the  familiar,  pathetic  harp, 
that  hangs  by  the  fireside,  that  breathes  of  com- 
mon duties,  home  affections,  pure  thoughts,  and 
ennobling  fancies ;  that  just  touches  the  imagina- 
tion and  fires  it,  without  tasking  thought. 

"  Who  ne'er  his  bread  in  sorrow  ate, 

Who  ne'er  the  mournful  midnight  hours 
Weeping  upon  his  bed  has  sate, 
He  knows  you  not,  ye  heavenly  powers !  " 

Even  to  such  a  translated  verse  Longfellow  has 
given  his  inimitable  grace  and  music,  and  one  likes 
to  be  crooning  and  singing  it  over  to  himself.  It 
eases  the  heart  of  pain,  and  does  one  good. 

Worcester  comes  next  in  our  course  of  travel 
north.  Its  imposing  cathedral  is  nearly  of  the  same 
magnitude,  and  has  much  the  same  character,  as 
Gloucester  Cathedral.     Like  that  edifice,  its  crypt 


WORCESTER  TO  DUDLEY.  133 

ani  nave  were  Norman,  and  it  has  no  svestern  tur- 
rets, but  its  central  tower,  with  rich  open  parapet 
and  octangular  turrets,  is  the  very  flower  and  per- 
fection of  the  later  style.  The  choir  is  Early  Eng- 
lish, with  highly  carved  canopied  stalls,  and  won- 
derfully bold  flower-work.  Those  old  artists  seemed 
to  have  brought  basketfuls  of  all  the  flowers  of  the 
field  into  the  church,  and  flung  them  over  the 
walls. 

As  the  Early  English  may  be  called  the  second 
style  of  architecture  to  be  found  in  England,  we 
will  say  a  Avord  about  it.  This  style  gradually  suc- 
ceeded the  Norman,  and  prevailed  from  the  begin- 
ning of  the  reign  of  Richard  I.  in  1189,  to  the  end 
of  the  reign  of  Henry  III.  in  1272,  a  period  of  about 
one  hundred  years.  We  may  date  the  time  of  tran- 
sition from  the  chivalrous  epoch  of  the  first  cru- 
sade, when  the  troubadour  and  ballad  poetry  arose, 
and  new-born  ideas  of  freedom  and  beauty  seemed 
to  be  struggling  with  the  old  force  and  tyranny. 
The  simple  characteristic  of  this  style  is  the  pointed 
arch,  long  and  narrow  at  first  like  the  head  of  a 
knight's  lance,  and  then  expanding  into  the  great 
windows,  such  as  those  at  York  Minster,  which, 
filled  with  painted  glass,  have  such  a  glorious  effect. 
Still  the  round  lines  of  the  Norman  architecture 
were  retained  in  many  particulars,  in  the  trefoil 
and  quatre-foil  heading  of  doors  and  windows,  and 
in  tiie  large  circular  windows,  like  those  at  Lincoln 
and  Peterborough.  We  can  even  see  how  the 
pointed  arch  grew  from  the  accidental  intersections 


134  OLD  ENGLAND. 

of  round  arches  with  each  other,  making  pointec 
arches  of  the  intermediate  spaces.  The  pointed 
arch  lifted  the  building  from  its  heaviness  and 
earthiness.  It  heightened  the  ceiling,  and  as  a  nat- 
ural  development,  it  sprung  toward  heaven  as  far 
as  it  could  carry  upward  its  lines  in  the  slenderlv 
pointed  spire.  We  find  perhaps  the  most  perfect 
instance  of  the  Early  English  style,  from  end  te» 
«nd,  from  foundation  stone  to  the  summit  of  the 
exquisite  spire,  in  the  Salisbury  Cathedral.  To 
support  this  greater  height,  this  mighty  upspringing 
mass,  wide  and  prominent  buttresses  were  added, 
which  in  the  compact  Norman  architecture  were 
usually  but  small  round  projections  from  the  wall 
itself.  These  flying  buttresses  with  their  double 
stories  of  arches  and  their  pinnacled  tops,  form  a 
new  and  bold  feature.  In  the  original  contract  for 
the  building  of  Fotheringay  Church,  it  is  written  : 
"  And  aither  of  the  said  Isles  shal  have  six  mighty 
Botrasse  of  Fre  stone,  clen  hewyn  ;  and  every  Bot~ 
rasse  fynisht  with  a  fynial."  A  very  characteristic 
ornament  of  the  Early  English  style  is  the  "  tooth- 
ornament,"  taking  the  place  of  the  Norman  zigzag 
moulding  around  the  arches  of  the  windows  and 
doors.  It  is  as  much  like  a  necklace  of  shark's 
teeth  that  the  Pacific  Islanders  wear,  as  any  thing: 
But  all  kinds  of  rich  and  delicate  decoration  begin 
to  appear  in  the  later  period  of  this  style.  Profuse 
flower-work  is  seen  in  the  garlanded  heads  of  pil- 
ars, and  the  budding  tips  of  corbels.  Every  thing 
ended  in  a  flower.     There  was  far  more  of  grace 


WORCESTER  TO  DUDLEY.  135 

tnd  delicacy,  and  yet  hardly  less  of  strength,  than 
In  the  Norman  style.  The  vaultings  of  the  roof  at 
their  lines  of  intersection  were  ribbed ;  and  cross- 
springing  and  transverse  ribs  were  introduced,  thus 
%\  eaving  a  rich  tracery  over  the  plain  Anglo-Nor- 
man ceiling,  though  it  was  just  as  massive  stone- 
work as  before.  And  while  the  columns  and  piers 
were  as  mighty  and  ponderous,  yet  the  rounds  and 
hollows  into  which  thev  were  cut  cave  them  a  more 
elaborate  and  elegant  character.  So  that  the 
Early  English  style  has  been  judged  by  some  to  be 
the  perfection  of  English  architecture,  because  it 
retained  the  strength  and  simplicity  of  the  Norman 
united  with  most  of  what  was  truly  ornate  and 
beautiful  in  the  later  styles.  But  these  old  churches 
were  so  long  in  building  that  we  find  examples  of 
all  the  ages  of  architecture  in  their  various  portions, 
and  a  practiced  eye  will  take  them  apart  and  read 
their  history  at  a  glance.  From  a  little  moulding, 
or  hidden  newel,  the  age  of  the  hand  that  reared 
the  tall  tower  might  be  known.  For  an  educated 
American  youth  to  have  no  knowledge  at  all  of 
architecture,  this  would  deprive  him  of  a  species  of 
sharpened  culture  that  is  not  dreamy  or  vague,  but 
is  as  scientific  and  harmonious  as  the  laws  of  music. 
It  requires  study,  and  taxes  the  analytic  powers. 
Such  a  youth  would  not  be  fitted  to  visit  Westmin- 
ster Abbey,  and  to  tread  the  solemn  and  storied 
temples  of  Old  England.  Let  him  defer  his  voyage 
i  year,  until  he  knows  the  difference  between  a 
tower  and  a  spire,  a  grcin  and  a  gable.     Besiies, 


136  OLD  ENGLAND. 

.here   is  nothing  finer  in   the  architecture  of  the 
world  than  the  English  Cathedrals. 

In  Worcester  Cathedral  is  the  tomb  of  King 
John.  Some  sixty  years  ago  the  tomb  was  opened, 
and  the  dress  was  found  to  be  precisely  similar  to 
that  represented  upon  the  monument.  His  statue, 
which  was  probably  a  portrait,  looks  better  than  hi3 
portrait  as  it  stands  in  history.  The  point  of  his 
sword  is  held  in  the  mouth  of  a  crocodile  with  a 
lion's  bodv,  denoting  strength  and  cunning.  The 
Btrong  old  Bishop  of  Worcester,  St.  Wulstan,  who, 
tradition  says,  struck  his  silver  crosier  into  the  rock 
so  that  no  one  but  himself  could  draw  it  out,  is  also 
buried  here.  Here,  too  is  the  monument  of  Stilling- 
fleet,  who  was  Bishop  of  Worcester,  appointed  by 
William  III.  It  is  interesting  to  happen  upon  the 
discovery  of  the  spot  where  a  great  man  lived  and 
died,  for  one  easily  forgets  these  local  particulars  in 
recalling  the  work  that  he  did  and  the  ideas  he 
originated.  Stillingfleet  did  no  small  work  for  the 
cause  of  rational  Christianity  and  a  true  Christian 
philosophy. 

From  Worcester  I  took  the  regular  coach  to 
Great  Malvern,  which  stands  upon  the  slope  of  the 
hills  that  rise  gracefully  from  the  plains  to  the 
height  of  1300  feet,  and  extend  in  a  long  ridge  run- 
ning  from  north  to  south.  The  crest  of  the  green 
hill  just  above  the  town  is  grand  from  its  height  and 
Bteepness.  Until  late  in  the  evening  I  saw  the 
moving  of  small  white  figures  upon  the  dark  back- 
ground of  the  sky ;  they  were  indefatigable  Englisk 


WORCESTER  TO   DUDLE1.  137 

adies,  who  will  walk  and  climb  as  long  as  tliey  can 
«ee.  These  hills  are  a  favorite  roaming  around  foi 
nil  who  visit  Malvern,  lifted  up  into  the  pure  cool 
tmosphere,  yielding  magnificent  prospects,  and 
sprinkled  with  brilliant  and  hardy  flowers.  I  spent 
the  next  day  in  driving  about  the  hills  to  Little 
Malvern,  West  Malvern,  and  Malvern  Wells.  The 
way  lay  through  a  laurel-fringed  road  opening  con- 
tinually upon  a  wide  panorama  below,  stretching 
away  over  the  vale  of  the  Severn  and  the  flat  green 
plain  of  Worcester  and  Warwick,  like  an  immense 
prairie.     Macaulay  sings, 

Till  twelve  fair  counties  saw  the  blaze 
On  Malvern's  lonely  height." 

We  passed  Camp  Hill,  cut  into  military  terraces  by 
the  old  Romans  for  one  of  their  strong;  mountain 
citadels,  when  they  held  a  half-conquered  country 
by  main  force.  I  may  be  wrong  in  saying  this,  for 
it  may  be  remembered  that  when  the  northern 
tribes  began  to  threaten  and  harass  the  British,  the 
last  sent  a  petition  to  Rome  called  "  the  groans  of 
the  Britons,"  showing  a  thoroughly  crushed  and 
discouraged  people,  and  one  that  had  become  en- 
tirely dependent  upon  their  conquerors  for  protec- 
tion. I  saw  on  both  sides  of  the  Malvern  Hills  the 
entrance  to  the  Tunnel  which  runs  throveh  them 
for  a  mile  and  a  half,  and  which  is  not  yet  com- 
oleted.  It  promises  to  be  as  arduous  an  undertak- 
ing as  the  "  Hoosac  Tunnel,"  but  English  pluck 
»nd  capital  will  carry  it  through,  as  Yankee  energy 
nil!  doubtless  do  what  it  undertakes.     The  sheep 


138  OLD  ENGLAND. 

were  nestling  beneath  the  banks  in  little  hollows  in 
the  dirt,  to  protect  themselves  from  the  heat.  They 
run  almost  wild  over  the  hills,  and  in  winter  sustain 
themselves  upon  the  clumps  of  "  gorse  "  which  they 
dig  out  from  the  snow.  They  do  not  wander  far 
from  the  spot  where  they  are  first  turned  out  and 
fed.  Brown  thrushes  and  yellow  humbers  were 
plentiful. 

In  the  distance,  upon  the  Hereford  side  of  the 
Malvern  Hills,  rose  the  monument  or  pillar  of  the 
Somers  family.  This  is  one  of  those  proud  memo- 
rials, the  one  responding  to  the  other  over  hill  and 
vale,  which  remind  us  of  the  well-known  fact  that 
England  is  divided  up  chiefly  among  twenty  or 
thirty  great  families.  The  Marquis  of  Bute,  who 
not  many  years  since  attained  his  majority,  has  im- 
mense estates  in  nine  counties  of  Great  Britain. 
These  rich  and  powerful  families  give  the  law  to 
every  thing.  All  is  cut  to  this  large  pattern,  and 
the  tendency  is  and  will  be,  until  a  great  change 
comes,  for  landed  property  to  be  more  and  more 
consolidated  in  the  hands  of  a  few.  The  land  ap- 
pears to  one  like  a  great  temple,  around  which  the 
"  Dii  majores "  and  the  "  Dii  minores "  sit,  and 
shed  down  upon  the  common  people  influences  in 
Borne  respects  perhaps  benign,  but  certainly  not  al- 
together so.  Among  some  useful  virtues  of  order 
*nd  reverence  that  may  be  engendered  by  this  sys- 
tem, it  would  be  extraordinary  if  the  vices  of  mer- 
^enariness  and  servility  were  not  also  bred  by  it. 
"  Your  Honor  this,"  and  "  Your  Honor  that,"  sig 


WORCESTER  TO  DUDLEY.  139 

nify  "  act  the  lord  now  by  your  humble  servant," — 
"  do  the  generous  thing."  None  are  more  willing 
to  confess  this  than  intelligent  Englishmen  them- 
selves. The  class  of  people  who  are  the  immediate 
dependants  of  the  great  are  the  most  injuriously 
affected.  They  catch  a  faint  reflection  of  the 
higher  polish  with  which  they  come  in  daily  con- 
tact, and  this  serves  to  separate  them  from  people 
of  their  own  station,  which  in  turn  drives  them 
back  into  a  closer  and  more  slavishly  humiliating 
dependence  upon  the  higher  class.  It  would  re- 
quire singular  virtue  for  such  a  class  to  retain  any 
nobility  of  character.  The  insular  position  and  con- 
fined spaces  of  the  kingdom  tend  to  fix  and  stratify 
these  distinctions  of  society,  and  do  not  permit 
classes  to  come  nearer  together.  The  old  Danish 
distinction  of  the  people  into  "  eorls  "  (earls)  and 
"  ceorls "  (churls)  exists  still  in  English  society. 
The  fact  however,  that  some  have  derided,  of  so 
many  of  the  English  peerages'  having  had  a  com- 
mercial origin,  as  the  modern  Earls  of  Northumber- 
land and  Warwick,  and  the  older  houses  of  Dart- 
mouth, Pomfret,  Leeds,  Ducie,  and  Ward,  is  on 
the  whole  a  fact  that  speaks  better  for  the  aris- 
tocracy than  many  others  that  might  be  named. 
Even  the  rigid  old  law  of  primogeniture  is  not  so 
rigid  as  I  for  one  had  supposed.  Justice  Sir  John 
Barnard  Byles,  now  of  the  Court  of  Common  Pleas, 
Itated  to  a  friend  of  mine  in  conversation,  that  the 
entail  of  all  the  entailed  estates  in  England  could 
oe  cut  off,  when  the  eldest  son  coming  of  age  con* 


MO  OLD  ENGLAND. 

sented,  excepting  in  four  cases.     These  four  were 
Rstates  conferred    and   made  hereditary  by  act  of 
Parliament,  and  the  entail  could  be  cut  off  only  by 
Parliament.     They  were  the  estates  of  the   Duke 
of   Wellington,    Duke    of    Marlborough,    Earl    of 
Shrewsbury,  and  Earl  of  Arundel.     It  is  quite  pos- 
sible that  one  or  more  of  these  may  have  derived 
their  estates  from  some  other  source,  the  main  point 
being  that  the  entailment  is  permanent.     The  Jus- 
tice furthermore  stated  that  no  property  could  be 
entailed  for  any  period  longer  than  a  life  or  lives  in 
being  and  twenty-one  years.     He  illustrated  this  by 
the  case  of  the  Duke  of  Buckingham,  who  got  so 
heavily  in  debt  that  his  personal  property  could  not 
pay  his  debts.     His  eldest  son,  heir  to  the  title  and 
estates,    the    Marquis    of  Chandos,    being  of  age, 
joined  with  his  father  and  cut  off  the  entail,  thus 
giving  up  the  property  to  satisfy  the  creditors.     He 
said  the  Duke  was  at  that  time  living  in  lodgings 
in  London,  too  poor  to  keep  a  servant.     The  Duch- 
ess was  living  at   Hampton   Court  in  apartments 
granted  by  the  Queen  without  charge.     The  Mar- 
quis of  Chandos  was  held  in  great  respect,  and  on 
the  death  of  his  father  would  doubtless  become  a 
peer  of  the  realm. 

England  is  a  country  which  moves  onward, 
though  in  its  own  way ;  and  the  majority  of  Eng- 
lishmen believe  with  Lord  Bacon  that  political 
cnang^s,  like  those  of  Nature,  should  be  gradual. 
Sooner  or  later,  however,  they  must  come.  The* 
will  come 


WORCESTER  TO   DUDLEY.  141 

"  when  Reason's  voice, 
Load  as  the  voice  of  Nature,  shall  have  waked 
The  nations ;  and  mankind  perceive  that  vice 
Is  discord,  war,  and  misery ;  —  that  virtue 
Is  peace,  and  happiness,  and  harmony; 
When  man's  maturer  nature  shall  disdain 
The  playthings  of  his  childhood." 

But  we  cannot  judge  England  by  America. 
There  is  a  painful  and  ponderous  sense  of  form  in 
the  English  mind  that  we  cannot  comprehend. 
There  is  often  real  freedom  where  there  seems  to 
be  but  servile  routine.  A  newly  created  constitu- 
tion built  upon  abstract  principles  and  cut  off  from 
the  Past,  however  perfect,  would  not  work  well  for 
England,  or  at  least  all  at  once.  A  "  Code  Napo- 
leon "  would  be  out  of  place.  Something  like  it,  I 
believe,  is  being  now  attempted  in  England  in  the 
reform  and  codification  of  statute  law  ;  but  the  vast 
confusion  and  overturn  it  would  necessarily  intro- 
duce, were  it  carried  out  suddenly  and  thoroughly, 
will  probably  prevent  a  transformation  of  the  pres- 
ent English  Constitution  into  any  thing  like  a 
purely  philosophical  system. 

Would  that  in  America  we  could  see  our  real 
advantage  over  England,  and  not  those  factitious 
advantages  concerning  which  we  are  sometimes  in- 
clined to  glorify  ourselves.  The  principle  of  self- 
government  is  a  higher  principle  than  that  of  loyalty 
»o  the  best  sovereign,  genuine  as  that  principle  may 
oe ;  for  it  is  fidelity  to  the  highest  good  of  all,  and 
;o  virtue,  intelligence,  and  God.  He  who  shares 
n  the   government  gains  in  moral  dignity.     His 


142  OLD  ENGLAND. 

manhood  is  developed  by  responsibility.  He  loves 
and  will  maintain  a  government  in  which  his  own 
will  and  intelligent  choice  are  involved.  He  will 
feel  that  upon  his  single  arm,  his  single  voice,  his 
single  life,  hangs  the  preservation  of  the  govern- 
ment and  the  national  freedom.  This  is  the  Amer- 
ican feeling.  It  burns  in  everv  true  American 
breast.  It  gives  us  an  incalculable  advantage  over 
aristocratic  nations  such  as  England,  but  it  is  a 
perilous  superiority.  We  have  cut  away  from  a 
vast  deal  that  is  useless,  and  worse  than  useless, 
and  we  have  a  free  field  before  us,  if  we  can  but 
stand  fast  in  this  liberty,  and  not  be  again  entan- 
gled in  the  bondage  of  Old  World  political  ideas, 
and  of  our  own  low  passions  for  power  and  wealth. 
Man  is  free  in  America  to  develop  himself  if  he 
can  govern  himself.  This  is  the  difficult  but  glori- 
ous problem  before  us  to  work  out.  Let  us  be 
humbler  and  more  watchful,  for  we  carry  the 
world's  higher  destiny  with  us  over  the  trembling 
road  that  leads  to  the  universal  freedom  of  the  race. 
That  with  all  our  faults  and  imperfections  we  have' 
in  the  main  succeeded  thus  far  in  the  maintenance 
of  the  principle  of  popular  sovereignty,  the  people 
of  the  Old  World  cannot  deny.  Many  have  been 
magnanimous  enough  to  confess  it,  as  have  such  no- 
ole  minds  as  Jeffrey,  and  Macaulay,  and  such  true 
men  as  Goldwin  Smith,  Richard  Cobden,  John 
Bright,  and  Thomas  Hughes.  What  great  praise 
was  that  which  was  freely  accorded  to  our  country 
try  an  English  newspaper,  in  connection  with  tin 


WORCESTER  TO  DUDLEY.  143 

Prince  of  Wales'  visit :  "  He  has  seen  a  nation  of 
loldiers  without  an  army ;  civil  order  without  a 
police ;  wealth,  luxury,  and  culture  without  a  court 
or  an  aristocracy.  He  has  learned  to  mingle  with 
the  husy  crowd  of  men  without  the  intervention  of 
chamberlains  and  courtiers  ;  he  has  found  respect 
without  ceremony,  and  honor  without  adulation." 
England  is  the  only  truly  free  country  of  the 
Old  World,  and  the  Englishman  is  a  free  man  ; 
bu4  our  glory  is,  that  humanity  itself,  one  and  indi- 
visible, may  rise  to  a  higher  plane  with  us  than  in 
England.  In  England  the  son  treads  precisely  in 
the  footsteps  of  his  fathers,  and  it  is  hard  for  a  man 
(though  there  have  been  a  few  marked  exceptions 
to  this)  to  rise  above  the  dead  level  of  the  class  of 
society — it  may  be  the  lowest  —  in  which  he  was 
born.  There  is  an  oppressive  weight  resting  on 
the  spirit  of  the  lower  classes,  and  a  volcanic  heav- 
ing beneath  this  mass  of  ancient  tyrannical  opinion. 
If  the  English  government  had  spent  as  much  for 
the  education  of  the  people,  as  it  has  to  sustain  the 
Poor  Laws,  there  would  have  been  a  different  state 
of  things  now  in  England  ;  but  so  long  as  the  abso- 
lute  caste-system  prevails  to  such  an  unnatural  and 
irrational  extent,  the  government  will  feel  no  sincere 
desire  to  educate  the  people  above  their  present 
condition.  Here  then  is  our  undeniable  ground  of 
superiority.  And  yet  we  seem  to  be  ever  on  the 
point  of  casting  away  this  inestimable  practical  ad- 
vantage, and  of  allowing  the  reallv  vulgar  idea  of 
material  luxury  to  overcome  and   overwhelm  the 


144  OLD  ENGLAND. 

higher  and  nobler  good.  But  let  us  leave  suclj 
nigh  themes  on  this  gentle  summer's  day  !  The 
wild  thyme  of  the  hills  smells  too  sweet  for  contro- 
versy. 

We  come  now  to  a  different  region  from  the 
green  and  fragrant  Malvern  Hills.  Dudley,  where 
I  happened  to  be  detained  for  some  two  or  three 
hours,  is  one  of  the  reeking  mouths  of  the  great 
Stafford  coal-pit.  I  walked  up  the  long,  dirty, 
paved  hill,  to  see  the  ruins  of  Dudley  Castle.  Ruins 
they  were  indeed,  not  smoothed  over,  and  cherished 
and  sentimentalized  upon,  but  left  pretty  much  to 
time,  decay,  and  filthiness.  Yet  there  was  some- 
thing rather  grand  in  the  grim  old  keep,  that  looked 
down  in  majestic  scorn  on  a  hundred  modern  man- 
ufactories. Lady  Jane  Grey,  whose  death  the 
world  mourned,  probably  lived  here  for  a  while. 
The  castle  belonged  to  an  ambitious,  bad,  and  plot- 
ting race,  of  which  Robert  Dudley,  Earl  of  Leices- 
ter, was  one  ;  and  which  in  the  person  of  John 
Dudley,  Duke  of  Northumberland,  grew  all-power- 
ful. Protector,  but  as  history  more  than  hints, 
murderer,  of  Edward  VI.,  and  the  tempter  of  Lady 
Jane  Grey,  he  undoubtedly  aspired  to  absolute 
power.  Now  his  very  home,  and  seat  of  power, 
which  he  also  obtained  by  treachery,  is  one  of  the 
least  cared-for  wrecks  in  the  land.  Its  stones  are 
efiled,  its  trees  are  cut  down,  its  broad  lands  are 
turned  into  scorched  coal-fields  and  places  for  flam- 
ing blast-furnaces.  It  is  singular  to  look  down 
from  the  walls  of  this  feudal  castle,  over  a  region 


WORCESTER  TO   DUDLEY.  145 

like  the  plain  of  Shinar,  as  far  as  the  eye  can  reach, 
glimmering  with  fires,  and  its  smoke  ascending 
continually  to  heaven.  The  town  of  Dudley  itself 
is  hardly  less  smutchy  and  comfortless  than  the 
castle.  A  savage-featured,  reckless  set  of  dirty 
men  and  women  hung  about  the  little  station-house, 
which  was  in  the  neighborhood  of  a  large  mine 
three  hundred  yards  deep.  A  brutal  "  mill  "  be- 
tween an  obese  gray-haired  man  and  a  powerful 
middle-aged  man,  came  off  upon  the  platform  of 
the  station-house.  I  helped  to  raise  the  old  man 
wno  fell  on  his  back  like  a  bag  of  sand,  and  appar- 
ently as  lifeless.  The  affair  seemed  to  be  a  matter 
of  course,  and  I  need  not  have  interfered.  These 
men  have  a  lawless  code  of  laws  among  themselves, 
and  fighting  is  a  daily  business,  —  a  way  of  settling 
pretty  much  every  thing.  The  word  is  followed 
by  the  blow.  Life  is  not  valued  too  highly.  If  a 
man  is  killed  by  a  fall  of  coal,  or  by  being  crushed 
in  the  shafts,  there  is  a  kind  of  "  wake,"  which  is 
rather  a  merry-making  than  a  funeral.  The  col- 
liers make  a  great  deal  of  money,  and  spend  it  as 
quickly  in  carousing.  The  proportion  of  crime  in 
the  mining  counties  is  lamentably  the  greatest. 
Some  faint  attempts  at  reformatory  and  missionary 
operations  in  this  vicinity  have  been  thus  far  of 
little  avail.  It  requires  the  courage  and  self-devo- 
tion of  a  Wesley,  to  go  among  this  people.  They 
differ  entirely  from  the  Cornish  miners,  and  a  part 
}f  this  is  owing  to  the  nobie  efforts  of  Wesley  him- 
self amid  the  rocks  and  pits  of  Land's  End.  In- 
10 


146  OLD  ENGLAND. 

taad  of  quarreling  about  white  surplices  and  purple 
chasubles,  what  a  noble  field  of  Christian  warfare 
is  here  !  Some  George  Miiller,  or  Miss  Marsh,  or 
Florence  Nightingale,  will  doubtless  come  down 
like  an  angel  and  stir  this  black  pool.  But  here 
lies  the  material  strength  of  England.  "  Deep  in 
unfathomable  mines  "  God  has  here  garnered  up 
her  physical  resources.  If  there  be  a  correspond- 
ing depth  of  trust  in  His  work  and  Word  in  spirit- 
ual things,  England  may  yet  stand  some  cycles 
more  against  the  world.  England  has  not  had  the 
fatal  gifts  of  gold  and  silver,  but  she  has  had  the 
better  gifts  whereby  she  may  get  gold  and  silver, 
and  all  that  they  stand  for,  and  at  the  same  time 
draw  out  her  own  skill  and  force. 

After  other  geological  ages  which  had  their  impor- 
tant place  in  the  foundations  of  the  world,  and  of 
this  favored  corner-stone  of  it,  there  was  an  untold 
period  when  England,  rising  above  the  waters  in  a 
number  of  scattered  islands,  was  one  great  forest  of 
fern  and  coniferous  trees.  They  grew  upon  the 
earth  of  the  carboniferous  limestone.  The  imagi- 
nation of  Hugh  Miller  could  only  begin  to  faintly 
conceive  of  the  stupendous  richness  of  this  vegeta- 
tion. It  has  been  reckoned  that  "  122,400  years 
were  necessary  for  the  accumulation  of  sixty  feet 
of  coal."  God  only  knows  what  ages  it  must  have 
required  to  hide  away  in  so  quiet  a  bed  that  the 
most  delicately  rayed  palm  leaf  is  not  broken,  such 
abysmal  layers  of  coal  deposite.  The  beds  of  coa. 
m  South  Wales  are  reckoned  tr  Ve  12,000  feet  id 


WORCESTER  TO  DUDLEY.  147 

thickness.  We  are  reminded  of  a  characteristic 
answer  of  one  of  the  vigorous-witted  Beecher  fam- 
ily, when  asked  if  there  were  enough  coal  in  the 
prairie  country  of  the  West  to  supply  the  wants  of 
those  woodless  regions :  "  Enough  to  warm  the 
world  while  it  lasted,  and  to  burn  it  up  when  it 
was  done."  It  is  true  that  nice  calculations  are 
made  as  to  the  probable  giving  out  of  the  coal 
wealth  of  England  ;  but  practical  miners,  I  am 
told,  do  not  generally  agree  with  the  theories  that 
assign  such  very  brief  limits  of  two  hundred,  or 
even  one  hundred  years,  to  the  coal  resources  of 
England.  There  are  such  great  and  unexpected 
variations  in  the  area  and  thickness  of  seams,  that 
there  is  no  absolute  judging  of  the  amount  or  the 
direction  of  the  coal  deposite  in  a  given  locality. 
The  coal  limits  are,  it  is  true,  externally  mapped 
and  accurately  defined,  but  internally  they  are  not 
and  cannot  be.  It  is  answered  that  though  there 
may  be  coal  enough  stored  away  in  the  bosom  of 
the  earth,  yet  on  account  of  increased  heat,  venti- 
lation and  expense  of  machinery,  it  is  impracticable 
to  work  it  at  such  immense  depths.  But  there  are 
now  shafts  twenty-one  hundred  feet  deep,  or  nearly 
half  a  mile,  up  which  the  coal  is  easily  raised. 
This  is  done  by  means  of  engines  of  enormous 
power  with  wheels  of  thirty  feet  in  diameter,  that 
bring  up  the  coal  from  that  depth  in  a  minute  of 
time,  each  revolution  raising  it  ninety  feet.  At 
Jie  Merton  Colliery  near  Durham,  there  was, 
during  the  sinking  of  the  mine,  I  am  told,  a  sud- 


148  OLD  ENGLAND. 

Jen  obstruction  to  the  works  from  a  great  flow  of 
water.  Shaft  after  shaft  was  sunk,  until  nine 
powerful  engines  were  in  operation,  pumping 
up  the  incredible  amount  of  fourteen  millions  of 
gallons  of  water,  or  seventy-two  thousand  tons, 
in  twenty-four  hours,  from  a  depth  of  450  feet ! 
In  this  way  a  subterranean  lake  of  water  and 
quicksand  was  drained.  Here  surely  was  energy. 
We  argue  that  so  long  as  coal  is  to  be  found,  it 
can  be  got  at  by  that  Anglo-Saxon  hardihood  and 
ingenuity  which  already  mines  for  it  under  the  sea, 
and  under  other  geological  strata.  And  if  the  coal 
should  fail,  this  is  not,  I  believe,  the  end  of  Eng- 
land. This  race  will  find  out  and  utilize  some 
other  force  of  Nature.  There  are  coal  substitutes 
now  discovered,  which  need  but  the  development 
and  application  of  science  to  make  them  available 
in  a  hundred  practical  ways.  If  a  spark  of  elec- 
tricity sends  a  message  from  shore  to  shore  of  the 
Atlantic,  what  limitless  power  resides  in  this  agent 
alone  !  While  I  rejoice  that  God  has  given  us  un- 
limited coal  resources,  I  am  not  disposed  to  exult 
with  some  in  the  fact  that  the  period  of  England's 
greatness  is  drawing  to  a  culmination,  simply  be- 
cause of  the  probable  or  supposed  failure  of  her  coal 
crop.  She  may  have  to  husband  and  economize  her 
coal  somewhat  more  carefully  in  future,  but  coal  is 
no  more  king  than  cotton.  This  is  quite  the  tend- 
ency of  much  of  the  reasoning  at  the  present  time 
■rhich  gives  no  place  to  higher  spiritual  forces. 
I  do  not  believe  that  a  nation's  greatness  reside* 


WORCESTER  TO  DUDLEY.  149 

ji  ber  material  resources,  but  in  her  will,  faith, 
intelligence,  and  moral  forces.  Civilization  rests 
upon  deeper  principles  than  the  earth's  soil  or  pro- 
ductions. The  same  race,  on  the  rocks  of  New 
England,  where  granite  and  ice  are  the  chief 
crops,  became  powerful  without  coal.  Mr.  Glad- 
stone himself  may  get  frightened  (or  may  feign  to 
be)  by  the  prospect  of  the  coal's  giving  out,  and 
declare  that  the  debt  of  England  will  never  be 
paid  if  such  an  event  should  occur,  but  he  would 
be  the  last  man  to  confess  that  the  English  nation 
would  give  out  with  her  coal.  Why  should  we 
wish  England's  power  to  decline  ?  Is  it  from  a 
jealous  sense  of  rivalry  ?  That  is  a  sentiment  un- 
worthy of  a  great  nation.  Is  it  because  England  is 
our  enemy  and  is  working  us  injury?  England 
has  done  us  wrong,  deep  wrong,  but  there  are  in- 
finitely more  points  of  affiliation  at  this  moment 
between  America  and  England,  than  between 
America  and  France,  or  America  and  Russia. 
America  is  working  more  change  upon  England 
than  England  upon  America.  The  same  blood, 
faith,  ideas,  and  literature,  constitute  a  unity  in 
nature  and  spirit,  that  no  external  or  accidental 
relations  can  ever  create  between  us  and  other 
foreign  nations :  — 

Ti  Zvyytvts  rot  Stirbv  1)  0'  dfii\ia. 

I  profess  no  special  love  of  England,  and  have 
felt  as  deeply  as  any  one  the  sense  of  her  blind 
and  selfish   injustice   toward   our   country   in   the 


150  OLD  ENGLAND. 

late  war,  but  I  have  never  lost  sight  of  the  prin- 
ciple that  the  two  nations  were  essentially  one, 
that  they  should  acknowledge  this  unity,  that  they 
will  do  so  in  the  final  struggle  between  free  and 
despotic  principles,  and  that  for  the  sake  of  hu- 
manity they  should  learn  to  know  and  love  each 
other  better  than  they  do.  Lord  Derby  has  truly 
said,  that  "  no  other  earthly  event  would  conduce 
so  much  to  the  future  of  civilization  as  the  union 
of  these  two  countries."  I  believe  this.  And  I 
believe  also  that  both  countries  have  in  them 
greater  sources  of  peril  to  their  prosperity  than  the 
possible  failure  of  their  coal  or  cotton  crops.  Eng- 
land will  perish  if  she  rests  on  her  material  re- 
sources for  her  greatness,  and  so  will  America. 
But  to  return  to  the  Staffordshire  coal  region. 
Birmingham,  the  home  of  Watt,  is  a  busy  child 
of  the  Severn  coal  basin,  and  is  almost  within  sight 
from  the  walls  of  Dudley  Castle.  She  stretches 
her  black  hands  to  Manchester,  who  shouts  over  to 
Leeds,  who  sends  on  to  grimy  Newcastle  the  cry 
of  "  Coal !  Commerce  !  and  Chartered  Rights  I ,! 

The  chief  amount  of  coal  deposite  thus  far  found 
in  England  is,  if  I  mistake  not,  in  the  Newcastle 
and  Durham  coal-fields,  from  the  Aln  to  the  Tees. 
There  is  also  an  immense  coal  basin  in  Yorkshire, 
in  the  West  Riding,  south  of  Leeds  and  Bradford, 
ej  tending  to  Nottingham.  There  is  an  equally 
important  coal  region  in  Glamorganshire,  in  South 
Wales.  In  Cumberland  and  Lancaster  Countiei 
are  likewise   vast  fields.      And    in  many  of   the 


WORCESTER  TO  DUDLEY.  151 

midland  counties  coal  is  found  in  great  and  ap- 
parently exhaustless  quantities.  But  while  enu- 
merating the  coal  riches  of  England,  the  poor  col- 
lier himself,  driving  his  dismal  work  down  under 
the  ruins  of  a  former  world,  exposed  to  per- 
petual peril  from  mephitic  vapors  and  crumbling 
walls,  dangling  upon  a  slender  rope,  or  crawling 
up  shafts  like  interminable  chimneys,  upon  ladders 
that  will  rot,  should  not  be  forgotten.  There  is 
stout  manhood  under  his  dirt-crusted  brutality. 
He  says  he  "  wins  "  the  coal.  He  does  indeed  win 
it.  He  never  descends  into  the  coal-pit  but  with 
the  chances  immensely  augmented  that  he  wk 
never  see  another  sun.  It  is  computed  that  fifteen 
hundred  lives  are  annually  lost  in  England  by  acci- 
dents in  coal  mines.  The  most  dreadful  of  these 
enemies  is  the  "  fire-damp,"  whose  chief  ingredient 
is  carburetted  hydrogen,  which,  with  a  certain 
mixture  of  common  air,  becomes  explosive.  In 
mines  where  the  ventilation  is  imperfect,  a  single 
act  of  carelessness  will  fill  miles  upon  miles  of  sub- 
terranean chambers  with  a  streaming  blaze  of  fire, 
sometimes  rising  to  the  surface  and  bursting  out  of 
the  shafts  with  the  roar  and  violence  of  a  volcano. 
And  the  poor  miners,  it  is  said,  will  carry  their 
pipes,  though  forbidden,  into  the  long  and  distant 
reaches  of  the  mine  —  whence  this  continual  danger. 
When  we  sit  down  before  a  genial  winter  fire,  let 
us  think  o  those  bold  hearts  who  have  "  won " 
the  coal  for  us. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

LICHFIELD   TO    MATLOCK. 

A  MOKiS  tranquil,  sleepy,  and  yet  high-feeling 
old  ecclesiastical  town  than  Lichfield,  in  the  green 
and  pleasant  valley  of  South  Offlow  Hundred,  can 
hardly  be  found.  It  is  proud  of  its  Cathedral,  of 
its  siege,  of  its  Tory  renown,  of  its  memories  of 
Dr.  Johnson,  of  its  relationship  to  the  illustrious 
families  of  Anson  and  Anglesey.  Lichfield  is  a 
genuine  example  of  an  unchanged  English  town 
of  some  six  or  seven  thousand  inhabitants,  with  its 
walled  "  Close,"  its  "  Minster  Pool,"  its  "  Butcher 
Row,"  its  «  Three  Crowns  Inn,"  its  "  King  Ed- 
ward's Grammar-School,"  all  as  in  the  former 
days. 

The  Hotel  bore  evidences  of  considerable  past 
splendor.  The  mahogany  furniture,  black  and 
polished,  was  majestically  carved  and  stately.  The 
principal  staircase  had  white  marble  steps,  though 
they  were  worn  into  hollows  in  the  middle.  And 
there  was  a  long  ball-room  up-stairs,  with  old- 
fashioned  mirrors  and  a  gorgeous  chandelier.  The 
names  of  the  streets,  St.  John  Street,  Bird  Street, 
Frog  Street,  Gore  Street,  Wade  Street,  etc.,  are 
nnmodernized.  One  road  out  of  the  town  leads  to 
Tamworth,  and  to  Ashby-de-la-Zouch  some  eigh» 


LICHFIELD  TO  MATLOCK.  153 

miles  distant,  the  scene  of  Ivanhoe's  achievement. 
Drayton  Manor,  the  seat  of  Sir  Robert  Peel,  "  the 
member  from  Tamworth,"  is  seven  miles  from 
Lichfield.  Tamworth  Castle,  now  belonging  to 
the  Townshend  family,  is  a  very  old  Norman 
structure  built  by  Robert  Marmion. 

"  They  hailed  him  Lord  Marmion; 
They  hailed  him  Lord  of  Fontenaye, 
Of  Lutterward,  and  Scrivelbaye, 
Of  Tamworth  tower  and  town." 

Five  miles  from  Lichfield  is  venerable  Wichnor 
Park,  which  was  formerly  held  by  the  tenure  of 
its  possessor's  being  obliged  to  furnish  an  annual 
flitch  of  bacon  to  every  married  pair  "  who,  after 
being  married  a  year  and  a  day,  should  make  oath 
that  they  had  never  quarreled  !  "  This  custom  has 
been  revived,  and  there  have  not  been  wanting 
honest  candidates  for  this  amiable  prize.  Thus 
every  thing  in  and  about  Lichfield  leads  to  the 
past,  and  makes  a  pleasing  and  restful  contrast 
from  the  surrounding  workshop  and  coal-bin  of 
Staffordshire. 

In  front  of  the  Bishop's  Palace,  on  the  north 
Bide  of  the  Cathedral,  is  a  shaded  avenue  called 
"  The  Dean's  Walk,"  and  is  said  to  have  been  a 
favorite  resort  of  Major  Andre.  This  looks  down 
upon  the  lovely  pastoral  vale  of  Stow,  and  the 
traditionary  spot  where  the  early  martyrs  were 
slain,  called  "  The  Field  of  Dead  Bodies,"  which 
Tave  the  name  to  Lichfield,  or  Litchfield,  as  it  ia 
tometimes  written,  and  which  signifies  field  of  the 


15*  OLD  ENGLAND. 

dead.  The  arms  of  Lichfield  is  a  shield  covered 
with  the  representation  of  piteously  hacked  limbs, 
mixed  with  axes  and  knives. 

"  Lichfield  should  be  a  field  of  good, 
For  it  was  watered  with  holy  blude." 

Tn  the  rural  valley  of  Stow  Mr.  Day  lived,  the 
author  of  "  Sandford  and  Merton."  Although 
this  is  rather  a  priggish  little  story,  I  should 
like  to  assist  in  erecting  a  monument  to  him 
and  Defoe  conjointly,  in  some  secluded  and  beau- 
tiful spot  in  the  middle  of  green  England,  to 
be  given  and  consecrated  to  the  "  Joy  of  Boys." 
Forever  blessed  be  the  memory  of  men  who  have 
done  something  to  make  youth  "  frisch,  frei, 
frolich,  fromm." 

On  the  little  path  that  leads  down  into  Stow 
Valley,  stands  an  off-shoot  of  Dr.  Johnson's  willow- 
tree.  The  original  one  in  which  he  took  a  great 
interest  was  blown  down  about  forty  years  ago. 
Passing  along  "  Butcher's  Row  "  toward  the  mar- 
ket-place where  is  Dr.  Johnson's  statue,  is  the  spot 
where  Lord  Brooke  was  killed  by  a  shot  fired  by  a 
deaf  and  dumb  man  from  the  battlements  of  the 
Cathedral.  The  monument  of  the  Doctor  fronts 
the  house  where  he  was  born  and  lived.  I  found 
two  big-limbed  young  countrymen  intently  gazing 
at  it,  and  after  a  long  pause  one  of  them  asked  the 
Dther,  "  Who  war  the  mon  ?  "  The  other  an- 
swered, "  I  'se  forgot,  but  he  war  some  gret  mon." 

It  is  a  clumsy  affair,  but  perhaps  good  enough 
to  answer  every  purpose.     There  is  a  colossal  sit 


LICHFIELD  TO   MATLOCK.  155 

ring  figure,  with  plenty  of  books  around,  if  indeed 
the  "  gret  mon  "  is  not  sitting  on  a  pile  of  them. 
The  relievos  of  the  pedestal  represent  the  good, 
brave  Englishman  in  his  youth,  one  of  them  as  a 
boy  chaired  by  his  schoolfellows  ;  another  of  him 
listening  to  Dr.  Sachervell's  preaching,  mounted 
on  his  father's  shoulders ;  and  another  of  him 
standing  bareheaded  in  the  rain  at  Uttoxeter,  to  do 
penance  for  youthful  disrespect  to  his  father. 

The  house  where  he  lived  in  his  youth,  on  the 
west  side  of  the  market-place,  is  a  neat,  three-sto- 
ried, excellent  brick  dwelling.  Instead  of  M. 
Johnson,  which  was  formerly  written  upon  it,  it 
has  now  a  sign  in  large  letters,  "  Clarke  —  draper." 
The  next  door  to  it  is  the  "  Three  Crowns  Inn  " 
where  Dr.  Johnson  and  Boswell  put  up,  and  where 
the  autocrat  of  the  bar-room  told  Boswell,  who  was 
disparaging  the  respectable  quietness  of  Lichfield, 
"  Sir,  we  are  a  city  of  philosophers,  we  work  with 
our  heads,  and  make  the  boobies  of  Birmingham 
work  for  us  with  their  hands." 

The  Grammar-School  where  Johnson,  and  Ad- 
dison (who  was  the  son  of  the  Dean  of  Lichfield), 
and  Garrick  went  to  school,  had  fallen  into  decay, 
but  has  been  recently  repaired,  and  indeed  rebuilt, 
preserving  its  ancient  Elizabethan  character.  The 
little  shops  that  one  sees  going  down  quiet  St.  John 
Street  to  visit  it,  remindei  me  of  Hawthorne's  de- 
tcrlption  of  the  "  Cent  sto-e  "  in  the  "  House  of  Sev- 
en Gables,"  and  of  such  little  magazines  of  respect- 
able and  uncomplaining  poverty  as  ?ven  now  may 
've  seen  in  some  of  our  oldest  New  England  towns. 


156  OLD  ENGLAND. 

My  first  visit  to  the  Cathedral  was  immediately 
on  arriving  in  the  evening.  I  walked  by  the  long, 
tranquil  "  Pool  "  in  the  heart  of  the  town,  which 
reflects  each  object  and  building  around  in  its 
smooth  mirror,  giving  a  reposeful  look  to  the  wholo 
place.  I  turned  down  the  neatly  paved  and  al- 
most solitary  lane,  that  led  to  the  Cathedral  inclos- 
ure,  and  was  delighted  with  its  west  front,  simple 
in  form,  yet  enriched  with  elaborate  lines  and 
ornament,  and  carrying  the  eye  upward  in  its  soar- 
ing towers  and  spires. 

The  good  verger's  wife  let  me  go  in  and  walk 
around  as  an  especial  favor,  at  this  late  hour.  Ev- 
ery one  who  has  a  taste  for  such  things  should  see 
one  of  these  old  cathedrals  at  this  moment,  just 
when  evening  is  fading  into  night.  The  yellow 
moon  shone  in  the  lofty  painted  windows  on  one  side, 
and  the  last  crimson  light  of  day  struck  the  upper 
windows  on  the  opposite  side.  Parts  of  the  vast  ed- 
ifice were  already  lost  in  darkness,  and  while  some 
of  the  round  pillars  and  foliated  capitals  stood  out  full 
in  light,  others  were  hardly  seen,  as  in  the  depths 
of  a  forest,  and  masses  of  black  shadow  like  giant 
hands  crossed  the  pavement.  The  silent  figures 
of  martyrs,  saints,  and  heroes  stretched  on  their 
tombs,  lay  around.  The  activities  of  this  life  were 
over  with  them  forever.  It  was  a  place  where  the 
a^es  had  come,  and  bowed  down  and  confessed 
their  sins  and  need  of  God.  Here  rich  and  poor 
nad  knelt  together.  What  were  our  shadowy 
aarthly  life  and   its   restless   ambitions,   comparec 


LICHFIELD  TO  MATLOCK.  157 

with  these  holy  and  eternal  associations  of  "  God'a 
house."  In  such  places,  the  old  Catholic  hymn 
leems  to  have  a  truth  in  it : 

M  0 !  tua  palatia 
Quanto  decet  sanctitas ! 
0 !  tua  sacraria 
Quanto  decet  pietas, 
Deus  formidabilis ! 

"  Quia  profanis  pedibus 
Audeat  accedere  ? 
Quis  pollutis  voc'bus 
Hymnos  tibi  canere  V 
Hospes,  O  terribilis  I " 

The  danger  is  that  the  worshiper  will  be  satisfied 
with  the  lower  beauty  and  the  temple  will  stand 
in  place  of  Him  to  whom  it  is  consecrated.  The 
desire  also  to  restore  the  perfect  church,  even  to  its 
smallest  seat  and  wash-basin,  naturally  draws  along 
with  it  the  wish  and  intention  to  reinstate  in  its  old 
place  the  ancient  ceremonial,  the  entire  Catholic 
service ;  and  it  were  perhaps  well  on  this  account 
not  to  continue  to  call  these  "  Cathedral "  churches, 
or  not  to  give  them  any  distinction  above  other 
houses  of  worship,  for  they  are  after  all  but  stone 
Rnd  mortar,  and  they  had  better  be  burned  down 
by  a  madman,  as  York  Minster  came  so  near 
being,  or  left  to  tumble  into  the  sea,  as  Kilnsea 
Church  did,  rather  than  draw  men's  thoughts  from 
the  true  building  and  worship  of  God. 

I  spoke  of  the  west  front  :>f  the  Cathedral.  It 
is  a  pyramidal  gable,  supported  on  the  sides  by  two 
towers  and  hexagonal-banded   spires,  with  a   large 


158  OLD  ENGLAND. 

decorated  window  in  the  centre,  and  the  whole 
face  lined  with  rich  canopied  arcades.  The  door  is 
deeply  recessed,  and  almost  as  sumptuously  and 
curiously  wrought  as  the  entrance  of  a  Moorish 
mosque  in  Spain.  Figures  of  the  evangelists  stand 
around  the  cavernous  portal,  in  niches  under  frost- 
work tabernacles.  Luxuriant  iron  scrolls  run  like 
vine  branches  over  the  doors.  The  middle  spire, 
258  feet  high,  built  in  the  place  of  one  which  fell 
in  the  siege,  is  six-sided,  and  incomparable  for 
lightness  and  elegance.  These  three  magnificent 
spires  rise  from  the  bosom  of  the  town  like  three 
tall  tapering  pine-trees,  that  shoot  up  to  heaven  far 
above  the  rest  of  the  low  forest  by  which  they  are 
surrounded,  and  bear  the  thoughts  up  with  them 
into  a  higher  and  purer  region.  The  church  is 
terminated  by  a  rich  hectagonal  Lady  Chapel, 
whose  interior,  with  its  central  shaft,  is  still  more 
delicate  and  elaborate.  The  heightened  ornament- 
ation, the  free  and  flowing  carved  foliage,  the  di- 
verging net-work  of  the  groined  roof,  the  trefoiled 
arches,  the  clustered  pillars,  the  exquisitely  finished 
Lady  Chapel,  belong  chiefly  to  the  epoch  of  the 
Decorated  style ;  and  happening  thus  naturally  in 
the  order  of  our  journeying,  I  would  give  a  glance 
at  this  third  description  of  English  architecture, 
which  followed  the  Early  English,  and  prevailed 
about  100  years  from  the  reign  of  Edward  I.  in 
1272,  to  the  end  of  the  reign  of  Edward  III.  in 
1377.  It  may  be  called  the  style  of  the  first  three 
Edwards. 


LICHFIELD   TO  MATLOCK.  159 

The  name  of  this  style,  "  Decorated,"  suffi- 
ciently describes  it.  It  is  the  former  style  or  st/lea 
covered  with  a  freer,  bolder,  and  more  flowing  or- 
nament, all  parts  being  modified  by  this  graceful 
idea.  As  yet  it  begins  to  show  but  few  signs  01 
decay  or  weakness.  Ornament  is  not  generali} 
the  end,  but  the  means  of  a  richer  and  heightened 
effect.  Two  characters  of  lines  are  seen  in  ch» 
forms  of  its  windows,  doors,  arches,  mouldings 
etc. ;  these  are  the  geometric  and  the  flowing  lines 
The  first  might  be  cut  with  the  playful  turning  oi 
a  pair  of  compasses  into  semicircles,  circles,  ellipses, 
trefoils,  quatrefoils,  cinquefoils,  etc.  ;  the  last  are 
composed  of  wavy  and  flowing  lines,  and  especially 
of  what  is  called  the  "  ogee,"  a  combination  formeu 
by  the  meeting  of  a  round  and  a  hollow,  a  concave 
and  a  convex.  The  "  ogee-arch  "  is  one  whose 
two  sides  are  composed  of  two  contrasted  curves. 
There  is  a  greater  drawing  out  and  more  striking 
pronunciation  of  all  lines,  the  hollows  being  deeper, 
the  rounds  longer.  There  are  very  irregular  com- 
binations, bold  clusterings  of  things  great  ana 
small,  round  and  sharp.  The  flower-work  is  no 
longer  a  stiff  thorn-bush  foliage,  but  vine-like,  run- 
ning and  flame-pointed,  wreathing  over  and  smoth- 
ering every  capital,  and  flowing  along  every 
groined  arch,  in  tropical  profusion.  The  bare, 
->lain  shaft  of  the  Norman,  or  Early  English, 
seems,  like  Aaron's  rod,  to  have  budded.  In  the 
earlier  times  of  this  style,  an  ornament  called  "  dia- 
ler work  "  frequently  occurs.     One  may  see  fin« 


160  OLD  ENGLASTD. 

specimens  of  it  in  the  side-screen  of  Lincoln  Cathe* 
dral,  and  upon  the  monument  of  William  de  Va- 
lence, in  Westminster  Abbey.  It  is  a  four-leaved 
flower  cut  in  stone,  and  inclosed  in  a  little  square ; 
and  multitudes  of  these  squares  are  brought  close 
together,  producing  a  singularly  rich  effect.  The 
lines  and  tracery  of  windows  are  especially  elegant, 
satisfying  the  eye  with  every  idea  of  luxuriant 
beauty.  The  exquisite  chapel  of  Merton  College, 
Oxford,  affords  throughout  a  splendid  though 
rather  diminutive  example  of  this  period.  The 
windows  of  the  Decorated  style  are  large,  com- 
posed of  two,  three,  or  more  lights.  The  east- 
ern windows  of  Lichfield  Cathedral  are  noble  in- 
stances of  the  general  splendor  and  delicate  tracery 
of  this  style.  The  smallest  corbel  or  finial  is  highly 
carved,  and  drops  in  a  bunch  of  grapes,  or  a  hand- 
ful of  flowers.  Some  of  the  finials  and  crosses  of 
Winchester  Cathedral  belonging  to  this  epoch  are 
hardly  describable,  so  richly  woven  over  are  the}' 
in  shooting  leaves  and  blossoms  ;  they  might  have 
stood  out  neglected  in  some  Italian  or  Sicilian  gar- 
den  for  half  a  century  of  summers,  and  then  have 
been  transplanted  with  all  their  tangled  wealth 
hanging  about  them  into  the  temple. 

The  sturdy  buttresses  of  this  style  are  more 
adorned  than  the  Early  English,  with  slender 
foliated  pinnacles  and  canopied  niches.  Very 
characteristic  of  this  epoch  are  niches  for  statues, 
with  lace-work  tabernacles  suspended  over  them 
But  this  is  quite  enough. 


LICHFIELD  TO  MATLOCK-  161 

The  great  fault  of  English  cathedrals  is  want 
af  height.  To  use  an  expressive  word,  they  are 
iquatty.  Contrasted  with  the  French,  German,  or 
Italian  edifices  of  the  same  periods,  this  is  a  strik- 
ing deficiency.  Give  York  Minster,  or  Lincoln 
Cathedral,  or  even  these  smaller  edifices  of  Lich- 
field, Worcester,  and  Gloucester,  the  height  of 
St.  Ouen,  or  St.  Stephens  at  Vienna,  or  Milan  *  v>^ca>^*^ 
Cathedral,  and  they  would  be  greatly  ennobled ; 
for  they  have  enormous  length,  solidity,  and  eleva- 
tion of  tower  and  spire,  and  would  bear  this  height- 
ening of  the  roof. 

In  Lichfield  Cathedral  is  a  monument  to  Lady 
Mary  Wortley  Montague,  a  small  mural  slab,  its 
inscription  adverting  to  her  agency  in  introducing 
the  system  of  inoculation  into  Europe.  The  fa- 
mous monument  by  Chantrey  of  the  "  Sleeping 
Children  "  is  touching.  Seeing  it  first  by  moon- 
light, it  was  like  looking  at  the  sweet  sleep  of  child- 
ren in  their  nursery.  One  thinks  what  a  start 
they  would  have  to  wake  and  find  themselves  in 
such  a  strange  solemn  place.  The  mother  of  the 
children  here  commemorated  —  (the  youngest  of 
whom  was  burned  and  the  eldest  died  shortly 
after)  —  is  still  living.  One  does  not  feel  like 
criticizing  such  a  work.  Its  purity  and  innocence 
vrould  seem  to  preclude  all  criticism. 

The  traveler  cannot  help  taking  some  notice  of 

the  more    general    geological   features  of  such   a 

country  as  England.     They  appear  in  the  scenery 

»nd  vegetation,  and  are  most  striking  and  varied, 

11 


162  OLD  ENGLAND. 

They  thrust  themselves  upon  you ;  they  sculpture 
and  paint  themselves  before  the  very  eye.  Derby- 
shire scenery  (for  we  now  come  into  this  beautiful 
country)  is  as  different  from  Devonshire  scenery 
as  a  lily-white  English  maiden  from  a  swarthy  red 
Indian  squaw.  I  stopped  at  the  town  of  Derbj 
long  enough  to  see  something  of  it,  and  to  make 
some  small  purchases  of  carved  fluor-spar  and  mar- 
ble. It  has  a  pleasant  site  on  the  lovely  Derwent 
River.  It  appeared  like  a  prosperous  agricultural 
town,  the  centre  of  a  fertile  region  ;  it  formed  a 
great  contrast  to  Lichfield  in  its  bustling  streets. 
Farm-wagons,  cattle  and  sheep,  were  going  to  and 
from  market.  There  is  a  race-cour.se  here  upon 
the  Nottingham  road,  but  the  famous  Derby  race- 
course in  which  England  royal  and  England  ple- 
beian, England  bearded  and  England  smooth  - 
chinned  delight,  is  at  Epsom,  about  sixteen  miles 
from  London.  The  Derby  silk  manufactures  are 
said  to  be  important,  but  the  buildings  themselves 
do  not  show  signs  of  very  considerable  works.  The 
most  striking  feature  of  Derby  is  the  remarkable 
tower  of  All-Saints  Church,  running  up  to  a  great 
height,  and  elegantly  divided  into  stories,  or  com- 
partments, with  buttresses  and  crocketings,  grow- 
ing more  and  more  enriched  as  it  climbs  to  its 
battlemented  summit,  and  finishing  with  delicate 
tracery-shields  and  lofty  pinnacles.  But  the  churcr 
ltself  is  low  and  small ;  it  is  like  Daniel  Webster's 
head  on  Tom  Thumb's  body.  Derby  was  the 
native  town  of  Richardson,  the  novelist ;  and  her« 


LICHFIELD  TO  MATLOCK.  163 

also  was  the  home  of  that  pure  spirit,   Adelaide 
Newton. 

Seventeen  and  a  half  miles  further  north  is  Mat- 
lock Bath,  in  the  heart  of  the  picturesque  scenery 
of  Derbyshire.  The  road  lies  along  the  Derwent 
valley,  in  which  the  peculiar  charms  of  the  Derby- 
shire landscape  soon  begin  to  appear,  though  of  a 
softer  and  more  rural  type.  But  at  the  village  of 
Ambergate,  at  the  Ambergate  and  Rowsley  Junc- 
tion, there  bursts  upon  one  the  genuine  Derbyshire 
dale  scenery  in  all  its  boldness  and  beauty.  Here 
the  rocks  begin  rising  in  sheer  walls  from  the  val- 
ley  ;  lovely  niches,  or  small  territories  of  bright 
green,  are  shut  in  by  rocky  barriers,  the  river 
gliding  softly  between  ;  and  I  was  reminded  of  the 
scenery  in  "  Saxon  Switzerland,"  but  more  espe- 
cially "  Franconian  Switzerland,"  frequently  no- 
ticing vales  that  were  almost  the  exact  counterpart 
of  the  lovely  little  valley  of  the  Wiesent,  which  is 
the  German  Tempe.  But,  clanking  into  the  tun- 
nel through  High  Tor,  we  are  at  Matlock  Bath. 

O  O  7 

We  arrived  at  the  station  just  as  a  monstrous 
excursion  train  came  in  from  the  north.  I  drove 
slowly  up  the  road  to  the  hotel  in  the  company 
of  thousands,  lherally  thousands,  who  were  soon 
diffused  over  the  beautiful  village  and  its  vicin- 
ity, filling  the  walks,  scaling  the  cliffs,  riding  the 
ionkeys,  rowing  on  the  river,  laughing,  singing, 
and  apparently  spending  the  fine  day  in  hearty  en- 
joyment. 

As  the  "  Old  Bath  Hotel,"  famous  in  Matlock 


164  OLD  ENGLAND. 

fashion  and  story,  was  temporarily  closed,  I  went 
to  the  "  New  Bath  Hotel,"  a  much  finer  situation 
at  the  further  end  of  the  village,  on  the  Cromford 
road,  commanding  delightful  views  of  High  Tor, 
the  river,  and  the  cliffs  on  the  opposite  side.  I 
have  lying  before  me  the  tariff  of  prices  at  the 
Matlock  hotels.  It  might  be  well  to  quote  it  juat 
to  give  an  idea  of  the  prices  at  this  favorite  Eng- 
lish watering-place  among  the  hills. 

"Old  Bath  Hotel,"  W.  Greaves.  Bed,  2s.; 
board  per  day,  6s. ;  private  room,  2s.  6d. ;  attend- 
ance, Is. ;  bed  and  board  in   public,  7s.  per  day. 

"  New  Bath  Hotel,"  Ivatts  &  Jordan.  Bed,  2s. ; 
breakfast,  Is.  6d.  to  2s. ;  lunch,  Is.  to  2s. ;  dinner, 
2s.  6d.  to  3s. ;  tea,  Is.  8d.  to  2s. ;  supper,  Is.  to  2s. ; 
attendance,  Is. ;  private  rooms,  2s.  6cZ.,*3s.,  3s.  6c?., 
4s.,  or  5s. ;  board,  5s.  6c?.  per  day ;  sitting-rooms, 
15s.  to  30s.  per  week  ;  bedrooms,  7s.  to  14s.  per 
week  ;  servants'  board,  3s.  6c?.  per  day ;  maid  ser- 
vants, for  attendance  per  week  on  one  person,  7s.  ; 
on  two,  12s. ;   on  three,  15s.  ;    on  four,  20s. 

The  garden  and  grounds  at  the  Matlock  Hotel 
are  beautiful.  How  calm  and  restful  the  evenings 
spent  in  them,  as  I  sat  under  the  great  lime-tree's 
shade  !  The  house  fronts  upon  the  river,  and  looks 
directly  upon  the  gigantic  wall  of  bald  cliffs  across 
the  Derwent,  with  tufts  of  green  or  painted  foliage 
upon  their  white  perpendicular  face,  from  which 
two  great  rocks  swelled  out  like  regularly  builded 
/"ouni  towers  with  bastions ;  while  to  the  left  the 
lleep  narrow  grassy  vale  of  Matlock  extended,  witb 


LICHFIELD  TO   MATLOCK.  165 

its  yellow  clustering  stone  houses,  terminated  by  the 
sombre  "  Heights  of  Abraham,"  and  above  them 
Mount  Masson,  and  a  little  beyond,  at  the  very 
extremity  of  the  vale,  gleamed  the  towering  and 
silvery  crag  of  High  Tor. 

The  lime-tree  of  which  I  spoke  merits  the  title 
of  "  magnificent."  Its  branches  are  supported  by 
poles,  so  that  it  looks  like  a  banyan-tree,  and  it 
covers  an  immense  area  with  its  grove-like  shade. 
A  tepid  spring  runs  under  its  roots.  It  is  a  garden 
of  itself,  and  filled  the  atmosphere  with  the  sweet 
perfume  of  its  blossoms. 

I  went  to  see  the  "  Old  Bath  Hotel  "  for  Lord 
Byron's  and  Mary  Chaworth's  sake,  who  used  to 
meet  here  during  the  days  of  his  comparatively 
sincere  and  uncorrupted  life.  On  making  some 
remark  of  pity  and  sympathy  for  the  poet,  the 
young  woman  who  showed  us  the  assembly-room 
spoke  out  with  that  English  positiveness  so  refresh- 
ing to  hear,  —  "I  have  no  pity  nor  sympathy  for 
nim ;  he  was  a  decidedly  bad  man." 

High  Tor  is  a  noble  cliff,  the  centre  and  kin2 
of  all.  It  is  a  mighty  mass  of  limestone  more  than 
four  hundred  feet  high,  standing  out  boldly  over 
the  river,  beautifully  white  in  many  parts  of  it, 
and  draped  at  its  foot  with  a  noble  growth  of  elms 
and  sycamores ;  while  vines  and  shrubs  wreathe  its 
front  with  a  tangled  tracery ;  the  river  runs  at 
;ts  base,  and  continues  to  glide  swiftly  on  under 
the  shadow  of  cliffs  nearly  as  high,  and  of  the 
*ame    perpendicular    character.      To    sit   on   thrf 


166  OLD  ENGLAND. 

grassy  river  brink  when  the  sun  tinges  the  summits 
of  these  rocks  with  that  last  serene  light  just  before 
its  setting,  and  at  the  same  time  to  watch  the  swift 
dark  stream  beneath,  it  seems  like  life  flowing  idly 
awav  under  nobler  lights  and  aims  that  still  linger 
pensively  above  it. 

In  the  early  part  of  the  afternoon  we  were  called 
to  the  window  by  the  merry  sound  of  music  more 
animated  than  harmonious,  and  found  that  it  ac- 
companied a  long  procession  of  all  the  boys  and 
girls  of  all  the  Sunday-schools  of  the  neighborhood, 
with  their  banners  and  decorations.  After  parad- 
ing the  streets  and  lanes,  they  passed  through  the 
garden  of  our  hotel  into  a  green,  sloping,  mountain 
meadow  just  behind  the  house.  There,  with  their 
teachers  and  pastors  and  pastors'  wives,  and  fathers 
and  mothers,  and  friends  high  and  low,  they  had  a 
long  pleasant  afternoon  of  sports.  I  sat  also  on  the 
grass  enjoying  it  as  much  as  they.  The  boys  would 
start  all  together  from  a  given  tree  on  the  side  of 
the  meadow  at  the  bottom  of  the  hill,  run  up  the 
hill,  around  another  tree  in  the  distance,  and  down 
to  a  given  point  in  the  centre  of  the  field,  making 
a  course  of  half  a  mile  or  so.  It  was  tough  strain- 
ing  work  to  get  up  the  steep  and  rough  hill,  and  I 
don't  know  when  I  have  laughed  more  heartily  than 
in  watching  the  manoeuvres  of  the  boys  at  outwitting 
and  outstripping  each  other.  After  turning  the  tree, 
thev  streamed  down  like  a  herd  of  deer,  one  slim 
bright- cheeked  boy  leading  them  all  in  most  gallant 
jtyle.     He,  of  course,  took  the  prize.     There  were 


LICHFIELD   TO  MATLOCK.  167 

ulso  foot-races  among  the  girls,  and  full  as  much 
earnestness  and  competition  were  shown  by  them. 
There  were  leaping-bars,  leap-frog,  and  other  games 
that  brought  out  skill,  strength,  and  activity.  The 
trial  that  created  the  most  interest  was  climbing  a 
greased  pole.  Boy  after  boy  bravely  essayed  to 
pull  the  streamers  on  the  top  of  that  taper  mast. 
Some  would  get  up  a  few  feet,  some  half  way,  some 
nearly  to  the  top,  and  be  obliged  to  give  up  in  spite 
of  every  encouragement  and  pelting  of  sugar-plums 
from  below.  The  writhing  motions,  the  red  grin- 
ning faces,  the  pantaloons  pulled  up  over  the  knees, 
the  bold  hot  beginnings,  and  the  desperate  clutch- 
ings  at  the  end,  were  ludicrous  enough,  for  nothing 
in  creation  is  more  comical  than  a  boy,  as  well  as 
nothing  more  beautiful  in  certain  moods.  One  sun- 
faced,  sturdy  little  fellow  nearly  did  it,  but  though 
within  two  inches  of  his  object,  and  straining  for 
dear  life,  he  had  to  slide  down.  A  good-looking 
larger  youth  at  last  succeeded  in  pulling  the  rib- 
bons, amid  loud  shouts  and  cheerings.  A  wealthy 
lady  of  the  parish  I  understood  had  provided  the 
afternoon's  amusement  for  the  children.  The  cler- 
gymen present  managed  all  the  sports,  and  adjudi- 
cated some  of  the  prizes,  which  must  have  been 
very  acceptable  to  the  poorer  children.  This  was 
one  instance  of  many  which  I  have  noticed  in  Eng- 
land, of  a  verv  cheerful  and  natural  tone  of  reliVious 
Seeling.  I  am  certain  that  we  sometimes  wai 
against  nature  and  grace  in  shutting  up  the  currents 
tf  play,  or  what  may  be  called  pure  enjoyment,  in 


168  OLD  ENGLAND. 

our  type  of  piety.  A  good  hearty  laugh  now  and 
then  that  expands  the  pent  breast,  and  makes  the 
blood  circulate  freely,  is  better  than  a  handful  of 
"  greenbacks."  It  has  gone  so  far  with  us  that  when 
we  lash  ourselves  up  to  really  enjoy  ourselves,  and  to 
play,  it  is  very  sad  work.  We  are  soon  tired  of  it. 
But  the  soul  can  hardly  be  sound  and  healthy  if 
the  springs  of  joy  are  not  sometimes  touched-  They 
may  otherwise  take  inner,  tortuous,  and  evil  chan- 
nels, as  we  have  seen  streams  in  a  limestone  coun- 
try like  Derbyshire,  wearing  out  for  themselves 
tremendous  caverns  under  the  mountains,  until  they 
fall  into  some  horrid  chasm  and  disappear  forever. 
Following  a  charming  road  along  the  Derwent, 
with  the  gray  grit-stone  cliffs  that  descend  into  and 
form  the  mighty  ramparts  of  Matlock  Dale  on  one 
side,  we  came  in  sight  of  "Lea  Hurst,"  the  home 
of  Florence  Nightingale,  not  far  from  the  villages 
of  Lea  and  Hollo  way.  It  stands  on  a  wooded  hill 
forming  the  termination  or  higher  summit  of  a  most 
glorious  valley,  with  crag,  mountain,  dark  forest, 
glistening  river,  and  green  pasture-land  spread  be- 
fore it.  The  scenery  though  beautiful  is  wild  and 
free,  fitted  to  inspire  fresh  thoughts.  The  house  at 
a  distance  appears  embosomed  in  woods  and  vines, 
and  stands  just  on  the  skirts  of  a  thick  park.  An 
open  lawn  slopes  away  down  from  it.  It  is  an  Eliz- 
ibethan  structure  of  cruciform  shape,  with  quaint 
gables  and  square-headed  windows.  One  grea* 
bay-window,  in  particular,  overhung  by  an  enor» 
aaous  wealth  of  ivy,  is  impressed  on  my  memory 


VJCHFIELD   TO  MATLOCK.  169 

t  is  one  of  those  incomparable  English  homes,  in 
uhe  midst  of  a  nature  where  every  thing  that  this 
world  can  yield  of  grand  without  and  exquisite 
within  seems  to  be  combined.  Here  "  the  Sol- 
dier's Friend  "  was  reared.  Her  family  has  an- 
other fine  place  in  Hampshire  called  "  Embley 
Park,"  but  in  a  more  plain  and  rural  county 
She  was  born  in  Florence  in  1820.  Her  paterna; 
name  (changed  to  Nightingale  in  1815)  is  Shore, 
an  ancient  Derbyshire  family.  Her  mother  was 
the  daughter  of  William  Smith  of  Norwich,  a  well- 
known  friend  of  Slave  Emancipation.  We  learned 
in  the  neighborhood  that  Florence  Nightingale  had 
begun  to  do  good  at  home  among  the  sick,  poor 
and  ignorant.  She  went  when  thirty-one  to  Kai- 
serwerth  on  the  Rhine,  to  learn  in  that  school  of 
the  Protestant  "  Sisters  of  Mercy  "  the  method  of 
training  nurses  for  the  sick,  and  she  has  written  an 
account  of  this  institution.  She  next  applied  her 
energies  to  renovating  the  Hospital  for  Sick  Gov- 
ernesses in  Harley  Street,  London.  She  also  was 
greatly  interested  in  the  ragged  schools  springing 
up  at  that  time.  Then  came  the  Crimean  war,  and 
the  world  knows  the  rest.  Over  all  the  gloomv 
and  magnificent  memories  of  that  great  city  of  Con- 
stantinople her  Christian  acts  shine.  The  smell  of 
fever  and  corruption  is  said  to  have  tainted  the  air 
ft.ll  around  the  Barrack  Hospital  at  Scutari.  But 
fever  itself  seizing  upon  her  own  slender  frame, 
^ould  not  drive  her  from  her  post.  The  talent, 
itrength  of  nerve,  and  wonderful  tact  shown  in  re 


170  OLD  ENGLAND. 

organizing  that  mass  of  ill-regulated  hospital  ser- 
vice was  as  remarkable  as  her  personal  devotion  to 
the  sick.  She  made  no  distinction  in  creeds  in  her 
choice  of  nurses,  and  this  subjected  her  to  a  mean 
attack  upon  her  religious  opinions,  and  from  a  sin- 
gular quarter,  —  a  clergyman  of  the  Established 
Church.  Should  the  secret  chamber  in  every  one's 
breast,  which  no  other  has  a  right  to  enter,  be 
opened,  it  would  probably  be  found  that  Miss 
Nightingale's  religion  was  just  that  which  all  true 
Christians  should  possess,  —  "a  deedful  faith." 

"Life  is  joy,  and  love  is  power; 
Death  all  fetters  doth  unbind: 
Strength  and  wisdom  only  flower 
Wtaa  ire  toil  for  all  our  kis&" 


CHAPTER  X. 

MATLOCK    TO    MANCHESTER. 

I  kept  on  as  far  as  "  Wingfield  Manor,"  a  ruined 
castellated  house  of  the  powerful  Earl  of  Shrews- 
Dury,  whose  wife  was  the  famous  "  Countess  Bess." 
These  ruins  are  in  the  highest  degree  picturesque, 
the  more  so  because  they  are  so  utterly  neglected, 
and  so  different  in  this  respect  from  other  English 
tenderly  nursed  and  "  well-preserved  ruins."  They 
stand  on  an  eminence  thickly  wooded,  in  the  cen- 
tre of  a  circle  of  green  and  lovely  hills  which 
Mary  Stuart  looked  out  upon  when  kept  here 
for  nine  years  captive  ;  though  if  we  should  be- 
lieve all  that  the  guide-books  here  and  there  say, 
the  unfortunate  queen  must  have  lingered  in  cap- 
tivity some  half  a  century  in  England  before  her 
death.  There  is  some  rich  carving  still  left  about 
the  windows  and  doors  of  the  chapel,  overgrown 
as  it  is  with  weeds  and  thistles  ;  but  trees  of  nearly 
a  century's  growth  shoot  up  where  Mary's  apart- 
ments once  were.  Cows  and  sheep  feed  around 
the  inclosure  of  the  walls.  The  house  was  de- 
stroyed by  the  Parliamentary  army,  or,  as  they 
told  me,  by  Cromwell,  who,  if  he  did  personally  all 
that  he  is  said  to  have  done,  must  have  been  not 
only  a  hundred-armed,  but  hundred-legged  Eng- 
lish "  Seeva." 


172  OLD  ENGLAND. 

Our  way  lay  led  through  the  village  of  Crlch, 
where  there  are  extensive  lead  mines  —  a  bleak 
place  seated  on  the  very  apex  of  the  hills,  the 
)ld  black  stone  church  keeping  watch  on  its  lofty 
height  over  a  vast  panorama.  I  saw  in  the  dis- 
tance "  Hardwick  Hall,"  one  of  the  many  do- 
mains of  the  Duke  of  Devonshire.  Coming  around 
over  the  desolate  tract  of  Tansley  Moor,  we  re- 
turned to  the  pleasant  hotel  and  old  lime-tree  at 
Matlock  Bath. 

The  little  river  Wye  is  said  to  be  a  capital  trout 
stream  ;  I  should  like  to  have  whipped  it  a  little 
by  way  of  trial.  It  has  not  the  volume  and  flow 
of  its  noble  namesake  in  Monmouthshire,  but  it  is 
a  pretty  amber-colored  stream  that  stops  and  plays 
with  every  thing  on  its  way,  — 

"  Giving  a  gentle  kiss  to  every  sedge, 
He  overtaketh  on  his  pilgrimage." 

Our  way  lay  along  this  lovely  little  river,  through 
a  valley  of  fertile  meadow  land  with  gentle  hills  on 
either  side,  where  the  cattle  were  quietly  feeding, 
and  though  the  rest  of  the  world  might  be  con- 
vulsed by  war,  here  all  was  peace. 

The  first  sight  of  Haddon  Hall,  standing  bold  and 
high  across  the  river,  set  off  by  its  background  of 
wools  —  a  sudden  vision  of  the  past,  with  nothing 
out  simple  Nature  around,  and  nothing  to  recall 
those  changes  that  have  made  it  an  object  of  pecul- 
iar mark  —  was  impressive ;  but  the  impression 
vas  n«.t  deepened  by  a  near  acquaintance.  Cross» 
oig  a  three-arched   bridge,   we   drove    up   to   thft 


MATLOCK  TO  MANCHESTER.  173 

lodge,  and  were  shown  into  the  castle  by  an  elfin, 
«vho  opened  the  big  oak  door  of  the  frowning  gate- 
way tower  with  a  key  almost  as  long  as  her  bare 
arm.  This  heavy  tower  of  the  time  of  Edward 
III.,  casting  a  broad  shadow,  is  the  most  majestic 
part  of  the  edifice ;  and  at  this  portal  the  scene  of 
Edwin  Landseer's  picture  is  laid.  The  house  is 
now  the  property  of  the  Duke  of  Rutland.  Before 
the  Manners  family  possessed  it,  it  was  the  seat  of 
the  Vernon  family ;  and  in  the  days  of  Sir  George 
Vernon,  styled  "  King  of  the  Peak,"  this  place  • -^ 
was  in  its  greatest  magnificence.  The  courtyard 
is  not  large.  The  chaplain's  room  is  first  shown, 
as  well  as  the  chapel,  to  illustrate  the  tight  corner 
into  which  religion  was  pushed  and  kept  locked  up 
in  those  times.  These  apartments,  and  their  verv 
keeping  and  situation,  go  to  verify  Macaulay's  pict- 
ure of  that  rude  and  unlettered  period.  Passing 
over  into  the  old  dining-room,  and  kitchen  with  its 
huge  iron  spit,  one  sees  plainly  enough  around 
what  centre  the  whole  house  revolved.  In  the 
dining-hall  there  is  the  rough  oak  table,  raised  a 
step  for  the  lord  and  his  family ;  but  he  seems  to 
have  eaten  with  his  retainers  and  people,  who 
sat  only  "  below  the  salt,"  with  a  kind  of  savage 
brotherhood  even  in  those  haughty  days.  When 
any  one  failed  of  drinking  his  share  he  was  fastened 
up  by  his  hands  to  an  iron  staple  in  the  wall,  and 
cold  water  was  poured  down  his  sleeve.  Of  course 
they  would  not  think  of  pouring  it  down  his  throat 
Hr»idon    Hall  is  wonderfully  preserved   in   all  ita 


174  OLD  ENGLAND. 

parts.     The  faded  arras  is  hanging  in  the  cham- 
bers.    The  little  lead-soldered  windows  swing  open 
to  let  in  the  spicy  air  from  the  cedar  and  fir  trees, 
as  in  the  old  time.     From  these  panneled  rooms, 
and  the  great  hall  sprinkled  with  carved  "  boars' 
heads  and  peacocks,"  and  the  state  bed-chamber, 
and  the  "  Peveril  Tower,"  and  the  terraced  garden, 
and  the  yew-trees,  and  the  grotesque  gothic  orna- 
ments of  the  outer  and  inner  courts,  it  would  not 
be  difficult  to  reconstruct  a  baronial  residence  of 
the  15th  or  16th  century.     The  long  line  of  crene- 
lated walls  and  towers,  low  but  solid,  form  even 
now  a  perfect  mediaeval  picture.    But  though  there 
are  some  striking  points  and  views,  most  things  are 
stiff,  creaking,  and  dismal  ;  and  with  the  gloomy 
forest  hano-ins:  around  and  above  on  a  wild  winter 
night,  it  must  be  a  rare  place  for  the  imagination 
of  a  poet  like  Keats  to  play  freaks  in.    Poor  Keats ! 
why  should  we  always  think  of  him  as  one  who 
could  have  written  such  great  things !     He  was  a 
true  English  poet ;  and  his  Greece  was  laid  in  the 
heart  of  green  England,  —  in  scenery  not  unlike 
this   softly  wild,    rocky,  verdurous,  lonely  Derby- 
shire. 

The  Bakewell  Church,  which  illustrates  Haddon 
Hall  as  St.  Mary's  Church  does  Warwick  Castle, 
is  worth  visiting  on  its  own  account.  Some  parts 
of  it  have  been  thought  to  be  of  Saxon  origin,  but 
Saxon  architecture  has,  I  believe,  been  pretty 
much  given  up  by  the  learned  as  something  tha 
belongs,  like  "  many-towered  Camelot,"  to  Tenny 


MATLOCK  TO  MANCHESTER.  175 

•on's  poetry  and  the  legendary  age  of  England.  It 
is  supposed,  however,  that  a  church  stood  here 
before  the  Conquest.  There  is  a  very  decided 
look  about  the  present  edifice,  of  a  more  modern 
church's  having  been  built  upon  an  extremely  an- 
cient one,  which  was  plain  and  solid,  without 
ornament.  It  is  a  quarry  of  antiquity  for  the 
ecclesioloo-ist.  There  is  a  Runic  cross  in  the 
churchyard,  as  well  as  at  Eyam  Church,  not  far 
distant.  Many  fragments  of  very  curious  tomb- 
stones, probably  Saxon,  have  been  discovered  in 
digging  under  the  church.  But  the  later  monu- 
ments in  the  Vernon  and  Manners  chapel  are  the 
most  singular.  They  are  composed  of  colored  life- 
size  stone  or  alabaster  figures.  A  mother  and 
her  whole  family  of  kneeling  sons  and  daughters 
down  to  mere  babies,  in  black  dresses,  all  having 
an  intensely  strong  family  likeness,  rise  pyramid- 
ically  upon  one  immense  monument  or  tablet.  The 
effigies  of  John  Manners  and  Dorothy  Vernon,  his  ^^\ 
wife,  whose  romantic  history  enlivens  the  stones  ^ 
and  shades  of  JHaddon  Hall,  are  upon  the  opposite 
monument.  An  elaborate  alabaster  recumbent 
statue  of  Sir  Thomas  Wendesley,  representing  him 
in  full  armor,  is  interesting  as  illustrating  costume. 

Chatsworth  is  a  place  so  well  known,  that  I 
cannot  attempt  to  write  much  about  it.  Its  situa- 
tion in  the  queenly  valley  of  the  Derwent,  framed 
in  on  one  side  with  perpendicular  hills  fading  away 
in  the  blue  distance,  and  by  an  ancient  park  on 
the  other,  with  broad  ricn  meadows,  an  unlimited 


^>j>- 


176  OLD  ENGLAND. 

sweep  of  soft  green  turf  dotted  by  cattle  and  deer, 
and  a  noble  river  between,  giving  an  opportunity 
for  picturesque  stone  bridges,  —  these  afford  it  a 
majestic  setting,  and  a  superiority  in  this  respect  to 
all  other  such  residences  in  England,  or  indeed  out 
of  England.  It  is  an  Italian  palace,  a  modern 
Hadrian's  villa,  set  in  English  scenery.  Its  great 
idea  is  amplitude  and  a  kind  of  imperial  breadth 
and  opulence.  It  looks  too  rich  and  magnifi- 
cent for  comfort,  and  give  me  "  Wilton  House  " 
or  "  Warwick  Castle  "  —  (if  such  a  painful  choice 
must  be  made)  —  to  live  in  in  preference.  As  it  is, 
a  few  servants  inhabit  Chatsworth,  look  out  of  its 
plate-glass  windows,  smell  its  roses,  and  walk  its 
grand  avenues  along  the  river,  —  its  lord  not  choos- 
ing to  live  in  it  but  a  short  time  in  the  year. 

The  character  of  the  mansion  is  entirely  modern. 
This  Italian  villa  style  may  possibly  suit  the  broad 
open  peaceful  site  better  than  a  castellated  house, 
or  an  irregular  Elizabethan  structure. 

Of  all  its  works  of  Art,  old  and  new,  I  was  most 
struck  with  the  little  picture  of  a  Benedictine  Con- 
sent, or  "  Monks  at  Prayer."  Its  vigorous  light 
and  shade  is  worthy  of  Rembrandt.  It  is  one  of 
those  modern  pictures  that  we  feel  sure  will  be 
celebrated  in  future  times,  when  ten  thousand  more 
ambitious  paintings  and  their  authors  shall  have 
gone  into  oblivion. 

The  sculpture  gallery  again  reminds  us  of  Italy 
ji  England.  Canova,  in  his  "  Mother  of  Napo- 
eon,"  Hebe  and  Endymion,  is  here  in  his  almos' 


MATLOCK  TO  MANCHESTER.  177 

Grecian  perfection  of  power  and  beauty.  His  head 
of  Napoleon  differs  from  every  other  that  I  have 
Been.  It  is  a  long  pointed  face,  with  much  more 
of  Italian  craft  than  is  common.  It  was  pleasant 
„o  see  the  countenance  of  our  own  Everett,  by 
Hiram  Powers,  among  the  busts  here.  Derby- 
shire  spar  and  marble  are  greatly  used  in  the  orna- 
mentation of  the  whole  building. 

In  the  vast  and  varied  garden  the  fruit  of  Sir 
Joseph  Paxton's  skill,  though  all  the  rules  of 
beauty,  surprise,  and  concealment  were  observed, 
there  was  not  a  free  expression  of  Nature.  Nature 
will  not  be  forced  by  the  command  of  wealth,  or 
miMit  of  art.  The  artificial  rocks  had  an  obsti- 
nately  exotic  look  ;  they  seemed  to  say,  "  We  are 
not  where  our  Author  placed  us,  but  we  are  here 
to  serve  the  Duke  of  Devonshire." 

Buxton  is  fourteen  miles  from  Chatsworth.  The 
road  lies  anions  green  vales  and  hills,  well  wooded 
with  ash,  fir,  and  oak,  but  growing  wilder  and 
drearier  as  one  went  north,  and  especially  in  ap- 
proaching Buxton  and  passing  through  the  stern 
mountain  gorge  under  Chee  Tor.  Here  the  gray 
limestone  rocks  rose  in  the  same  wall-like  escarped 
fashion  of  which  we  have  spoken.  We  kept  along 
oy  our  new  and  lovely  little  friend  the  river  Wye, 
now  become  a  very  child  in  slenderness  and  freak- 
ish babbling  wantonness ;  for  we  were  approaching 
its  babyhood  and  cradlehood  among  the  high  moor- 
ands  above   Buxton. 

This   northern   Spa   among   the   hills,  nearly  a 
19 


178  OLD  ENGLAND. 

thousand  feet  above  the  sea,  is  a  strikingly  situated 
place,  in  a  deep  hollow  or  bowl  of  the  mountains, 
hemmed  in  by  bleak  desolate  scenery.  Words- 
worth in  his  "  Excursion "  speaks  of  "  Buxton's 
dreary  heights."  But  here  in  this  lonely  and  dis- 
mal region  rises  a  very  stately  and  fashionable  little 
metropolis.  Its  great  "  Crescent  Hotel  "  is  one  of 
the  wonders  of  the  land.  To  look  down  upon  it 
from  the  top  of  the  opposite  hill,  in  the  evening, 
when  fully  lighted,  it  appears  like  an  illuminated 
Coliseum  cut  in  two.  It  was  built  by  the  late  Duke 
of  Devonshire  at  the  cost  of  ,£120,000,  and  in  fact 
comprises  several  hotels,  dwellings,  and  a  multitude 
of  shops.  The  bathing  and  pump  establishments  * 
of  Buxton  are  altogether  the  most  luxurious  and 
superb  I  have  seen.  Besides  elegant  private  bath- 
rooms, there  are  immense  porcelain  swimming 
basins  of  tepid  water  beautifully  crystalline  and 
transparent,  though  of  a  bluish  tinge.  The  water 
in  the  pump-rooms  comes  out  of  the  mouths  of 
white  porcelain  swans. 

The  winding  walks,  the  gardens,  the  stables,  are 
all  on  the  same  scale  of  opulence. 

At  the  "  table  d'hote  "  of  St.  Ann's  Hotel  (which 
is  a  singular  innovation  in  English  hotels),  and  in 
the  handsome  drawing-room  around  the  card-tables, 
one  sees  all  descriptions  of  decrepitude  and  disease, 
cripples,  paralytics,  dyspeptics,  rheumatics,  and 
gouty  people  with  their  feet  in  flannels  and  slippers. 
Wealth  and  luxury  must  take  their  special  share  of 
these  ills.    But  there  are  other  water  establishments 


MATLOCK  TO  MANCHESTER.  179 

intended  especially  for  the  poorer  class  of  invalids 
That  which  is  called  the  "Buxton  Bath  Charity" 
is  supported  by  the  subscription  of  visitors,  a  gift  of 
,£10  entitling  the  donor  to  have  one  patient  on  the 
list  for  life. 

The  water  is  a  mild  saline  mineral,  not  unpleas- 
ant to  the  taste,  and  without  odor.  Its  base  is  car- 
bonate of  lime  and  magnesia.  At  the  moment  of 
its  issue  from  the  spring  it  is  highly  charged  with 
nitrogen. 

Buxton  was  a  bathing-place  of  the  bath-loving 
Romans,  and  old  Roman  roads  have  been  found  ra- 
diating from  it  as  from  a  centre.  Buxton  has  also 
its  memories  of  Mary  Queen  of  Scots,  who  was  fre- 
quently here  during  her  English  captivity. 

The  famous  name  of  "  Peveril  of  the  Peak," 
which  Walter  Scott  seized  upon  with  the  aptitude 
of  genius  and  turned  it  to  his  own  account,  is  the 
ancient  " genius  loci"  of  Derbyshire.  All  that  is 
historic  and  legendary  in  this  whole  region  culmi- 
nates in  the  ubiquitous  personality  throned  among 
the  hills ;  for  he  built  the  old  tower  of  Haddon 
Hall,  he  ruled  at  Chatsworth,  and  he  had  for  his 
especial  seat  this  eagle-nest.  Peveril,  though  the 
historian  Freeman  scouts  the  whole  thing,  was  the 
reputed  natural  son  of  William  the  Conqueror. 

To  this  same  William  Peveril  all  this  territory 
of  Derbyshire  was  given,  the  northern  part  gradu- 
ally vising  into  lofty  heights  taking  the  name  of 
"■"the  Peak."  It  is  a  naked  rocky  region  full  of 
mineral  riches  and  marvels,  with  immense  unex- 


180  OLD  ENGLAND. 

plored    caves,    intermittent    springs,    "  shivering 
mountains,  and  mines   of  silver,  lead,   and   "Blus 
John." 

From  Buxton  to  Castleton  is  twelve  miles.  Part 
of  the  way  we  followed  the  old  Roman  road  that 
penetrated  into  this  mining  district,  especially  to  the 
Odin  lead  mine,  which  is  still  worked.  It  lies  over 
sullen  and  desolate  hills,  appearing  more  so  perhaps 
from  the  coal-black  clouds  that  hung  menacingly 
low  upon  the  scene,  but  which  toward  noon  broke 
away,  the  sun  coming  out  with  great  heat.  Before 
arriving  at  Castleton  we  passed  around  the  foot  of 
Mam  Tor,  or  "  the  shivering  mountain,"  a  shaly 
crumbling  hill  800  feet  high,  and  so  called  from  its 
continual  self-wrought  process  of  disintegration. 

The  "  Blue  John  mine,"  which  is  the  only  local- 
ity where  large  masses  of  this  beautiful  fluor-spar 
are  found,  lies  just  here  at  the  foot  of  Mam  Tor. 
Its  walls  have  a  sparry  lustre,  and  on  going  a  little 
way  in,  there  comes  a  profound  gulf  which  one 
looks  down  into  with  respectful  awe.  But  none  of 
these  Derbyshire  caverns  could  compare,  I  thought, 
with  the  cave  at  Adelsburg  near  Trieste,  where 
Milan  Cathedral  itself  is  reproduced,  with  its  myr- 
iad arches,  and  clustering  columns,  and  fretted  pin- 
nacles, and  snowy  images,  in  the  dark  bosom  of  a 
mountain. 

Descending  by  a  steep  road  from  this  point, 
which  commands  a  broad  panorama,  we  came  into 
1  valley,  on  the  southern  side  of  which,  cowering  in 
'die  shade  of  a  high  hill,  is  the  little  village  of  Cas» 


MATLOCK   TO  MAXCIIESTER.  181 

tleton.  It  is  half  a  mining  place  and  half  a  curios- 
ity-shop, with  small  stone  houses  and  one  old 
church,  and  abounding  in  boys  and  old  men,  ready 
to  conduct  to  the  "  Peak  Castle,"  the  "  Peak  Cav- 
ern," "  Speedwell  Mine,"  or  "  Cave  Dale." 

After  the  conventional  luncheon  of  the  season, 
mutton-chops  and  salad  crowned  by  the  cavernous 
"  Stilton  cheese,"  I  took  a  guide  to  the  veritable 
Peveril  of  the  Peak  Castle.  This  guide  was  half  ar 
idiot,  and  though  perfectly  familiar  with  the  way, 
left  me  of  course  to  my  own  intelligence  respecting 
all  other  things.  He  wanted  to  impress  upon  me 
that  he,  "  Johnny  Here,  was  always  here,  and  that 
Johnny  was  a  good  guide." 

The  climb  to  these  old  blackened  ruins  on  the 
lofty  hill  just  back  of  the  village,  was  a  steep  one, 
and  the  grass  dry  and  slippery.  But  the  site  of 
the  castle  is  fine.  It  commands  a  wide  though 
desolate  view  over  this  upper  and  rugged  portion 
of  Derbyshire.  Of  the  castle  itself,  little  remains 
but  a  low  bi'oken  wall  running  around  the  edge  of 
the  cliff,  two  almost  totally  ruined  towers,  and  a 
somewhat  better  preserved  portion  of  the  ponderous 
keep,  which  probably  resisted  the  efforts  of  those 
who  would  quarry  stones  from  it,  for  the  building 
of  houses  below  in  the  village.  It  is  of  oldest  Nor- 
mun  work,  with  small  round  arched  doorways  and 
windows,  and  is  massive  enough  to  satisfy  all  the 
demands  of  the  imagination.  On  three  sides  the 
lastle  overhung  profound  abysses,  and  must  have 
tiuen  in  its  day  imp'egnable.     The  sheep  now  ram* 


182  OLD  ENGLAND. 

ble  over  its  empty  courtyard  and  old  stones.  Tlia 
mention  of  this  castle  in  the  "  Doomsday  Bock  '  ia 
said  to  be  in  these  words :  "  Terra  Castelli  William 
Peverell  in  Pecke  fors." 

The  visit  to  "  Peak  Cavern  "  beneath  was  some- 
what exciting  to  those  of  the  party  who  had  never 
been  before  so  far  into  the  bowels  of  the  earth.  It 
is  indeed  a  formidable  earth-throat.  The  perpen- 
dicular walls  of  gray  rock  rise  on  either  side  of  it 
and  above  it  six  hundred  feet,  and  it  opens  with  a 
black  arch  forty-two  feet  in  height,  one  hundred 
and  twenty  in  width,  and  three  hundred  in  depth. 
It  is  such  a  cave  as  Pluto's  chariot  might  issue 
from.  A  little  stream  flows  from  this  sombre  vault. 
On  one  side  of  this  chasm,  just  under  its  great  cor- 
nice, stands  a  hut  where  a  woman  is  said  to  have 
lived  to  very  old  age,  never  sleeping  away  from  it 
but  once  in  her  life.  In  the  dim  light  we  saw  tall 
poles  and  lines  stretched  across  them,  where  a  num.  • 
ber  of  men  and  women  were  at  work  making  twine. 
Taking  a  guide,  and  groping  into  the  cave  until  the 
roof  sloped  down,  to  the  inner  wall,  we  went  through 
a  little  door  which  opened  into  a  long  passage  with 
hardly  a  ray  of  light,  this  leading  into  a  large 
apartment  where  we  lighted  our  lamps,  and  then 
passed  on  through  passage  after  passage,  hall  after 
hall,  till  we  came  to  the  "  Bell  House,"  which  waa 
like  being  under  a  vast  bell,  the  roof  taking  a  regu- 
,ar  pear-shaped  dome  form.  Soon  after  this  we  ar 
rived  at  the  "  First  Water,"  which  is  sometimes  an 
jnpassable  pond  filling  up  the  whole  passage,  tut  i* 


MATLOCK   TO   MANCHESTER.  183 

*ras  now  so  low  that  we  could  creep  along  comfort- 
ably by  the  side  of  it.  Then  we  scrambled  over  wet 
Btones  and  under  low  archways,  with  the  solemn 
sound  of  this  "  Cocytus  "  murmuring  below  us  in 
the  depths  of  the  mountain,  until  we  came  to  a  grand 
chamber  two  hundred  and  ten  feet  broad,  two  hun- 
dred and  twenty  long,  and  one  hundred  and  twenty 
high,  with  heavy  arches  like  those  of  a  stupendous 
Norman  crypt.  Here  the  old  iron-handed  Pever- 
ils  above  might  have  laid  their  dead  in  a  more  aw- 
ful and  magnificent  sepulchre  than  any  that  their  an- 
cestors possessed.  And  it  seemed  a  pity  that  Scott 
should  never  have  visited  this  place,  for  he  certainly 
would  have  made  something  out  of  this  cavern. 
He  might  have  hid  his  Puritan  here,  and  what  a 
terrible  scene  might  have  been  wrought  out  of  the 
sudden  rising  of  the  subterranean  river,  as  is  fre- 
quently  the  case,  cutting  off  the  escape  of  those 
who  were  in  pursuit.  We  went  on  2250  feet  into 
the  mountain,  where  the  end  of  the  cave  is  reached 
and  the  river  disappears.  This  cavern  is  in  some 
way  connected  with  the  "  Speedwell  mines  "  a  mile 
distant,  for  the  debris  of  that  mine  is  occasionally 
brought  down  in  this  direction.  The  whole  region 
here  is  hollow  and  undermined.  On  returning,  the 
little  daughter  of  the  guide,  gliding  around  like  a 
Bpirit,  caused  a  surprise  by  placing  lamps  here  and 
.here,  imitating  the  light  of  iay,  while  we  were  yet 
far  in  the  hill.  The  r°al  light  of  day,  when  we 
rame  out  of  the  darkness,  seemed  to  be  something 
golden,  the  beauty  of  which  I  nad  never  seen  be- 


184  OLD  ENGLAND. 

fore,  excepting  in  a  similar  emergence  from  a  deep 
;avern  into  the  sweet  sunshine  of  heaven. 

In  the  "  Cotton  Metropolis  "  I  took  up  my  abode 
at    Queen's   Hotel,   one   of  the  largest  hotels  in 
Great  Britain,  though  there  was  the  slightest  sus- 
picion about  it  of  that  kind  of  upholstery  splendor, 
which  one  sees  less  rarely  in  England,  but  perhaps 
more   frequently  in  America  in  our  great  manu- 
facturing  towns.      Dinner    served    in    sumptuous 
style,  was  followed  by  a  course  of  "  Times"  news- 
paper,   "  Chronicle,"    and    "  Punch."      Indeed    a 
traveler  in  England  soon  gets  as  infatuated  after  his 
evening  newspaper  as  an  Englishman,  and  almost 
like  an  Englishman  does  not  know  what  his  own 
opinion  is  until  he  has  read  the  "  Times."     One  is 
drawn  to  read  English  newspapers  for  their  good 
vigorous   English.      English    newspapers    deal    in 
facts  and  ideas  more  than  in  rhetoric  and  personali- 
ties.    They  base  their  articles  upon  broad  princi- 
ples of  political  economy,  trade,  or  morals.     Even 
a  little  blotchy  penny-sheet  like  the  "  Telegraph," 
has  a  daily  leader  that  for  pithy  English,  compre- 
hensive and  penetrating  political  views  and  weighty 
looic,  would  set  up  a  member  of  Parliament  or  of 
Congress  as  an  accomplished  speaker.     There  is  no 
doubting  the  fact  that  England  is  a  free  country 
by  him  who  reads  English  newspapers.     Even  to 
a  Republican  used  to  free  speech  they  often  sound 
surprisingly  bold.     They  may  be  imperious,  harsh, 
nnjust,  wrong,  and  bitterly  controversial,  yet  they 
io   speak  right  out,  and  as  a  German  writer  ha» 


MATLOCK   TO  MANCHESTER.  18£ 

5aid,  "  A  noisy  irritable  debating  nation  does  not 
prove  that  liberty  is  crushed,  but  a  quiet  and  silent 
nation  does." 

A  Sunday  in  England  !  There  is  doubtless 
great  formality  and  great  desecration  of  the  day; 
but  a  day  for  the  worship  of  the  Most  High, 
a  day  on  which  the  shuttle  ceases,  the  shop  is 
closed,  the  house  of  God  is  filled  with  apparently 
devout  assemblies,  —  this  is  above  all  things  char- 
acteristic  of  England,  in  city  or  country.  Other 
nations  laugh  at  England  for  this,  but  the  recogni- 
tion of  the  Sabbath  is  a  simple  and  sublime  ac- 
knowledgment by  the  nation,  of  God.  God  must 
be  in  the  life  of  a  nation  as  of  a  man  to  make  it 
great.  The  faith  of  England  is  a  spring  of  char- 
acter and  a#  source  of  strength,  that  some  philoso- 
phers do  not  always  sufficiently  take  into  account 
in  their  ingenious  and  profound  estimates  of  Eng- 
lish traits.  It  is  deeper  than  all.  Race,  soil,  posi- 
tion, history,  are  nothing  to  it.  It  is  that  invisible 
stream  of  truth,  duty,  and  hope,  that  runs  from  the 
eternal  heart.  In  a  great  sweating,  working  city 
like  Manchester,  the  universal  and  marked  regard 
of  the  Sabbath  has  something  touching  in  it.  It 
is  poetry  to  worship  God  in  the  green  lanes  where 
there  is  peace  and  loveliness,  and  every  thing  to 
draw  out  the  soul  to  sing  p-aise  ;  but  it  is  affecting 
zn  the  presence  of  want,  of  squalid  poverty,  of  the 
Dgly  barren  features  of  a  huge  manufacturing  town 
»n  its  joyless  life  and  ofttimes  awful  despair,  to  see 
•he  myriad  hands  of  toil  raised  to  the  Father  of  all, 


186  OLD  ENGLAND. 

tnd  to  hear  the  sounds  of  Christian  joy  and  praise. 
I  recall  some  words  of  Macaulay  on  this  point: 
*'  While  industry  is  suspended,  while  the  plough 
rests  in  the  furrow,  while  the  exchange  is  silent, 
while  no  smoke  ascends  from  the  factory,  a  process 
is  going  on  quite  as  important  to  the  wealth  of 
nations  as  any  that  is  performed  on  busier  days. 
Man,  the  machine  of  machines,  compared  with 
which  all  the  contrivances  of  the  Watts  and  Ark- 
wrights  are  worthless,  is  repairing  and  winding  up  ; 
so  that  he  returns  to  his  labors  on  Monday  with 
clearer  intellect,  with  livelier  spirit,  and  with  re- 
newed corporeal  vigor." 

The  streets  were  thronged  with  little  children 
going  to  and  from  their  various  schools.  It  was  a 
sultry  day,  and  the  operatives  cleanly  dressed  sat 
quietly  in  their  door-ways,  the  men  generally  in 
their  shirt-sleeves.  They  looked  to  me  pale  and 
worn.  It  was  good  to  see  them  resting  for  a  little 
time  from  their  bone-wearing  and  monotonous  toil. 
The  poor  children  of  the  manufacturing  cities  are 
the  greatest  objects  of  compassion.  The  multi- 
plicity of  laborers  in  England  and  their  consequent 
low  wages,  leads  parents  to  put  their  children  very 
early  into  factories  where  the  hard  work  and  con- 
finement are  terrible.  They  have  been  known  to 
begin  labor  at  the  tender  age  of  five,  and  I  have 
seen  it  stated  that  boys  and  girls  from  eight  to 
fifteen  are  obliged  to  labor  in  factories  and  work- 
houses  eighteen  hours  a  day.  But  now,  at  this  still 
hour,  there  seemed  to  be,  at  least  to  a  looker-on 
■omething  like  repose  to  the  weary. 


MATLOCK  TO  MANCHESTER.  187 

•  I  took  a  long  walk  to  hear  Canon  Hugh  Stowell 
preach  in  Christ  Church,  Salford.  The  text  was 
from  the  Epistle  to  the  Galatians,  vi.  15.  His 
sentences  were  extremely  sententious.  The  first 
two  I  remember  were  these :  "  A  man  will  give 
every  thing  to  God  but  his  heart.  God  will  .have 
nothing  from  man  without  his  heart.''  He  argued 
upon  the  essential  falseness  of  a  baptismal,  ritual, 
credal,  sentimental,  or  moral  piety.  Faith  was  a 
new  life.  It  was  God  dwelling  in  us  as  a  living 
principle  of  pure  emotion,  right  thought,  and  be- 
nevolent action.  To  criticize  so  good  and  noble  a 
sermon  were  hardly  fair  ;  but  its  style  ran  often 
into  poetic  commonplace,  and  did  not  retain  the 
nervous  masculine  march  with  which  it  beo-an. 
And  one  cannot  but  long  in  the  English  pulpit  foi 
the  free  elbow,  the  bold  and  graceful  sweep  of  the 
arm,  that  is  seen  in  the  French  pulpit,  be  it  that  of 
Lacordaire  or  Cocquerel,  and  also  in  the  mosl 
effective  American  preaching  and  oratory.  There 
is  a  trussed  look,  a  gesturing  with  the  hand,  instead 
of  the  arm.  In  the  afternoon  I  heard  an  Inde- 
pendent minister  in  a  most  humble  and  obscure 
brick  building,  with  nothing  on  the  exterior  to  dis- 
tinguish it  from  an  old  black  cotton  warehouse.  A 
few  sheep  were  gathered  in  this  lowly  sheepfold. 
The  preacher  was  a  thin,  pale  man,  who  prayed 
fervently  for  the  crowds  of  those  who  had  not  the 
bread  of  life  in  that  swarming  city,  for  the  poor, 
the  sinful,  and  the  tempted.  He  preached  an  earn- 
»st  but  sad  sermon.     Yet  perhaps  he  was  one  of 


188  OLD  ENGLAND. 

the  few  who  in  the  eye  of  God  saved  the  city  — 
whose  prayers  filled  the  golden  vials  before  the 
throne.  I  could  not  help  fancying  that  even  the 
sight  of  one  stranger  rather  cheered  the  little 
flock. 

Of  course  I  do  not  mean  to  speak  of  a  Man- 
chester Sabbath  as  any  thing  peculiar.  If  I  had 
penetrated  into  the  back  lanes  of  Ancoats,  and  the 
less  public  parts  of  the  city,  I  should  probably  have 
found  the  gin  palaces  in  full  swing,  and  profane- 
ness  and  gross  vice  enough.  But  to  the  transient 
stranger  the  day  was  apparently  kept  holy,  and  the 
great  tired  city  rested  from  its  labors. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

THE   LAKE    COUNTRY. 

A  lively  and  pretty  scene  was  that  miniature 
Bowness  Bay,  on  beautiful  Lake  Windermere,  with 
its  fleet  of  tiny  yachts,  their  pennants  flying,  and 
its   array  of  gayly  cushioned    pleasure-boats.      A 
pleasant-looking  boatman  touched  his  hat,  and  we 
were  soon  out  of  the  crowd  of  small  craft  and  vora- 
cious swans,  the  rapid-winged  boat  cutting  its  way 
over  the  lake,  smooth  and  black  as  Egyptian  mar- 
ble,   toward   the    "  Ferry    Inn,"    some   little    way 
down  on  the  opposite  side.     While  we  were  run- 
ning over,  there  were  indications  of  the  sultry  day 
ending-  in  a  thunder-storm,  and  two  or  three  rum- 
bles  of  thunder  broke  among  the  hills.     The  tall 
mountains  at  the  head  of  the  lake  grew  misty,  and 
the  sun  shining  through  the  clouds  that  piled  up 
gwiftly  around  it,  showed  like  an  immense  St.  An- 
drew's cross.     A   considerable   swell  followed   the 
gusts  that  began  to  sweep  down  the  lake,  but  our 
boatman  thought  it  would  soon  pass  over,  as  it  did. 
We  neared  tho  great  craggy  wall  on  the  opposite 
side,  about  a  mile  across,   skirting  along  its  base, 
until  we  came   to  the  promontory  of  Ferry  Inn, 
marked   by  its   conspicuous   clump   of  sycamores. 


y 


190  OLD  ENGLAND. 

Here  we  could  see  nearly  the  whole  reach  of  the 
lake,  which  is  ten  miles  long.  In  shape  it  is  not 
unlike  "  Long  Lake  "  in  Northern  New  York,  but 
how  unlike  the  shaggy  sides  and  setting  of  that 
rude  though  beautiful  Indian  water !  Everywhere 
the  hand  of  taste  has  smoothed  the  shores  of  thia 
English  lake.  At  every  point  where  there  is  a 
foothold,  some  noble  dwelling  is  placed,  its  rolled 
lawn  or  its  majestic  park  coming  down  to  the  very 
water's  edge.  But  the  lakes  of  the  Adirondack 
region,  in  point  of  size  and  other  features,  might 
bear  some  comparison  with  these  English  lakes, 
especially  with  the  rockier  and  sterner  ones.  Per- 
haps in  future  times  those  rough  emeralds  of  the 
mountains,  where  now  nought  is  heard  but  the 
plaintive  cry  of  the  loon,  or  the  plashing  of  the 
wild  deer  among  the  lilies,  will  be  built  upon,  and 
become  the  homes  of  poets  and  the  resorts  of  trav- 
elers, artists,  and  health-seekers.  But  there  is 
something  exquisitely  soft  in  Windermere.  It  has 
a  feminine  delicacy,  and  with  its  light  touches  of 
beauty  draws  out  the  fatigue  from  the  weary  brain. 
It  does  not  want  in  largeness  and  grandeur  toward 
its  upper  end.  As  we  came  around  Curwen 
Island,  on  our  return,  we  had  a  clearer  view  of  the 
northern  extremity  of  the  lake.  Fairfield  Moun- 
tain stood  out  distinct  and  dark  against  the  sky,  and 
just  under  it  on  either  side  Rydal  Head  and  Nab 


.£&.—;- . 

Scar,  with  Wansfell  Pike  and  the  Kentmere  range 

'  y* *.<    „°f  hills  °n   the   right.      But    toward  the   south  it 

Saded  away  in  wavy  and  gentle  lines. 


THE  LAKE  COUNTRY.  191 

We  landed  upon  Curwen  Island,  or  Belle  Isle, 
ihe  largest  island  in  the  lake,  a  choice  ring  of 
springy  turf  and  ancient  trees,  of  about  a  mile  in 
circumference.  Christopher  North  has  immortal- 
ized it,  for  the  most  beautiful  Nature  is  dead  until 
a  human  soul  starts  it  to  life  by  its  living  touch  and 
sympathy.  "  We  see  then  as  we  feel,"  Words- 
worth said.  There  is  a  circular  stone  mansion 
upon  this  island  more  odd  than  tasteful.  Clear  it 
away  and  restore  it  to  fresh  Nature,  and  we  can- 
not conceive  of  a  more  dreamy  or  poetic  "Aiden  " 
in  a  small  compass,  than  this  island.  Other  lit- 
tle "  aits  "  of  vivid  green  are  strung  along  to  the 
south  of  it ;  their  leaning  branches  sweep  the 
water,  and  upon  their  shallower  sides  they  are 
fringed  with  a  white  border  of  water-lilies. 

The  next  day,  though  showery,  gave  glimpses  of 
the  lake  from  higher  ground,  in  and  back  of  Bow* 
ness,  taking  in  the  majestic  horns  of  the  two  Lang- 
dale  Pikes  at  the  north,  and  just  opposite,  the 
ridge  of  Furness  Fells,  crowned  by  the  indented 
peak  of  Coniston  Old  Man,  with  a  dim  and  distant 
view  of  Scawfell  Pike,  the  highest  mountain  in 
England.  Just  beyond  this  high  wall  of  table-land 
across  the  lake,  lies  the  long,  parallel  lake  called 
Coniston  Water,  having  much  the  character  of 
Windermere,  though  smaller.  Between  the  two 
is  the  minute  lake  of  Esthwaite,  only  two  miles  in 
length,  upon  the  borders  of  which  Wordsworth 
went  to  school,  and  from  which  his  life-like  descrip 
Oon  of  skating  in  the  "  Prelude  "  is  drawn. 


192  OLD  ENGLAND. 

I  drove  down  into  Troutbeck  Valley,  crossing 
the  bridge  that  went  over  Troutbeck  stream.  It  is 
strange  how  in  hilly  countries  the  very  names  grow 
beautiful  and  suggestive.  We  have  seen  this  in 
the  Dovedales  and  Derwentdales  of  Derbyshire. 
In  the  Lothian  and  Tweed  countries  we  find  such 
Bweet,  melodious  names  as  Melrose,  Yarrow,  Lam- 
mermoor,  Gala  Water,  — 

"  To  Auchindenny's  hazel  shade, 
And  moss-crowned  Woodhouselee." 

In  the  lake  region  also  we  find  names  that  it  seems 
as  if  poets  must  have  made  expressly  for  the  places, 
instead  of  these  making  the  poets.  Troutbeck, 
Patterdale,  Windermere,  Hartstope,  Furness  Fells, 
Leatheswater,  Grasmere,  Silver  How,  Helvellyn, 
Helm  Crag,  Bleaberry  Fell,  Glaramara,  Ulleswa- 
ter  —  in  truth,  there  is  no  end  to  them.  How 
could  they  have  sprung  or  flowed  forth,  except 
from  the  real  poetry  in  the  heart  of  the  primitive 
people ;  and  as  this  is  a  kind  of  faint  Wordsworth- 
ian  idea,  so  we  must  be  drawing  near  the  home  of 
the  poet ! 

This  Troutbeck  Valley  into  which  we  have  en- 
tered is  a  deep  and  picturesque  hollow,  running 
under  the  southeast  side  of  Wansfell  Pike  (Peak), 
up  toward  the  steep  of  Woundsdale  Head,  where 
there  ia  a  path  that  turns  to  the  left  into  the  Kirk- 
stone  Pass.  The  secluded  village  of  Troutbeck 
stands  some  way  down  this  valley,  and  a  mile  and 
a  half  above  the  bridge. 

Wordsworth's  own  home  is  a  drive  of  a  mile  and 


THE  LAKE  COUNTRY.  193 

•  quarter  from  Ambleside.  By  a  still  pleasanter 
and  somewhat  longer  walk  nearer  in  under  the 
heights  of  Lochrigg  Fell,  —  that  we  may  be  sure 
Wordsworth  often  took,  —  we  may  go  past  the 
embowered  cottage  of  Dr.  Arnold,  —  Fox  How,  — 
situated  just  beneath  the  Fell,  and  looking  directly 
up  the  great  hollow  bosom  of  Fairfield  Mountain. 
How  often  does  Dr.  Arnold  refer  to  this  mountain 
nest !  He  says  in  one  place  in  a  characteristic 
way,  "  Behind  we  run  up  to  the  top  of  Lochrigg, 
and  we  have  a  mountain  pasture  in  a  basin,  on  the 
summit  of  the  ridge,  the  very  image  of  those  '  Sal- 
thus  '  on  Citheron,  where  (Edipus  was  found  by 
the  Corinthian  shepherd.  The  Wordsworths' 
friendship,  for  so  I  may  call  it,  is  certainly  one  of 
the  greatest  delights  of  Fox  How,  and  their  kind- 
ness  in  arranging  every  thing  in  our  absence  has 
been  very  great." 

His  delight  at  getting  home  from  a  foreign  tour 
he  expresses  in  a  lively  way  :  "Arrived  at  Bow- 
ness    at    8.20  ;    left   it  at   8.31  ;    passing   Rayrigg 
gate  8.37.     On  the  Bowness  Terrace  8.45.     Over 
Troutbeck  Bridge  8.51.     Here  is  Ecclerigg  8.58. 
And  here  Lowood  Inn  9.04  i.     And  here  Water- 
head,  and  our  ducking  bench  9.12.     The  Valley 
opens,  Ambleside  and  Rydal  Park,  and  tho  gallery 
on  Louchrigg.     Rotha  Bridge  9.16.     And  here  is 
he  poor  humbled  Rotha,  and  Mr.  Brancker's  cut, 
*nd  the  new    Millar    Bridge   9.21  —  alas!  for  the 
alders  are    gone,   and    succeeded   by  a    stiff  wall. 
Here  is  the  Rotha  in  his  own  beauty,  and  here  ii 
13 


194  OLD  ENGLAND. 

poor  T.  Fleming's  field,  and  our  own  mended  gate* 
Dearest  children,  may  we  meet  happily  !  Entered 
Fox  How  and  the  beech  copse  at  9.25,  and  here 
ends  journal.  Walter  first  saw  us,  and  gave  no- 
tice of  our  approach.  We  found  all  our  dear  chil- 
dren well,  and  Fox  How  in  such  beauty,  that  no 
scene  in  Italy  appeared  in  my  eyes  comparable  to 
it." 

What  names  have  we  gathered  as  we  go  along 
As  the  mountains  rise  here  above  the  rest  of  Eng- 
land so  do   the    minds   that  have  clustered  here. 
How  much  they  have  done  to  refresh  the  plains ! 

Rydal  village  stands  in  the  hollow  between 
Loughrigg  Fell  and  Nab  Scar,  near  the  lower  end 
of  Rydal  Water ;  and  a  little  up  the  side  of  Nab 
Scar,  which  rises  bare  and  majestic,  furrowed  with 
the  marks  of  torrents  and  avalanches  —  high 
enough,  in  fact,  to  take  it  out  and  lift  it  into  a 
commanding  position  —  is  the  house  where  Words- 
worth lived.  Somewhat  further  on,  in  the  same 
ascending  road,  is  Rydal  Hall,  the  seat  of  the  De 
Flemings,  surrounded  by  an  antique  forest  so  often 
mentioned  in  the  poet's  verse,  and  in  Wilson's 
exquisite  prose-poems.  Rydal  Mount  was  closed 
when  I  was  there,  shortly  after  the  death  of  Mrs. 
Wordsworth.  I  looked  at  the  little  yellow  plas^ 
tered  house,  peeping  over  its  thick  girdle  of  larch 
trees  and  laburnum  bushes.  It  seems  to  have  been 
ingeniously  set  aside  out  of  the  common  road 
though  not  completely  isolated.  It  is  a  kind  ol 
bird's-nest  upon  the  rugged  bosom  of  the  mountain. 


THE  LAKE  COUNTRY.  195 

Interlaced  around  it  with  care  are  all  species  of 
thickly  growing  shrubs  and  vines.  Its  front  win- 
dows have  a  splendid  prospect  over  the  deeply 
scooped  vale  of  Rydal  Water  and  Grasmere,  and 
the  mountains  beyond.  It  is  a  very  plain  and 
almost  rough  dwelling  externally,  though  with  a 
peerless  site.  An  American  friend  who  had  been 
kindly  entertained  by  Wordsworth  told  me  that  it 
was  furnished  with  every  English  comfort,  but  with 
no  luxuries  beyond  the  presence  of  books  and  flow- 
ers. It  was  the  abode  of  a  man  who  in  his  own 
words  applied  to  another,  "  united  plain  living  with 
high  thinking."  My  friend  said  that  the  poet,  he 
could  hardly  tell  why,  reminded  him  of  Henry 
Clay.  I  suppose  from  all  accounts  he  must  have 
looked  as  much  like  an  old  bald  eagle  in  his  milder 
meditative  mood  as  any  thing  else.  Hazlitt,  less 
reverentially,  compared  his  long  head  and  face  to 
that  of  an  old  white  horse  !  He  was  at  that  time 
in  a  state  of  irritation  about  his  American  bonds, 
and  spoke  strongly  of  the  moral  wrong  of  repudia- 
tion, and  expressed  his  fears  lest  American  nobility 
and  faith  might  become  swamped  in  materialism. 
The  only  thing  yet  done,  I  believe,  about  repudi- 
ating these  Mississippi  bonds  in  which  the  poet  was 
fettered,  has  been  to  talk  about  it.  But  in  inde- 
pendence and  comparative  wealth  here  he  lived 
•vith  his  little  family,  and  that  sister  whom  he  so 
much  loved  — the  feminine  correlative  of  his  own 
mind,  and  more  than  all  the  other  nine  to  him. 
How  many  other  great  men  besides  Wordsworth, 


19G  OLD  ENGLAND. 

Lamb,  and  Neander,  have  had  such  guardian  spirits 
jh  their  sisters  ?  Perhaps  my  reader  may  remem- 
ber more.  At  the  bottom  of  this  same  steep  lane, 
running  up  out  of  the  village,  is  the  chapel  where 
Wordsworth  was  a  constant  attendant.  He  had 
an  Englishman's  respect  for  the  services  of  God's 
house.  He  was,  I  believe,  a  truly  religious  man. 
De  Quincey  has  ejected  some  stains  upon  his  char- 
acter, making  him  appear  to  be  a  selfish  man.  But 
De  Quincey,  though  an  eloquent  genius,  saw  his 
equals  and  superiors  in  such  an  intense  light  of 
feeling,  that  it  served  to  darken  them.  The  mean- 
ness of  some  of  his  remarks  upon  Wordsworth  has 
been  proved  by  Wordsworth's  generous  and  abso- 
lute silence.  Wordsworth  was  a  reserved  man, 
not  always  the  most  amiable,  and  a  supreme  egotist. 
But  his  egotism  was  of  such  a  harmless  and  noble 
sort,  of  so  pure  and  high  an  ideal,  that  none  could 
be  hurt  by  it.  His  spirit  bent  ever  reverently 
oefore  God.  He  has  been  accused  of  pantheism ; 
yet  a  student  of  his  writings  will  find  that  the  God 
Dreathing  through  the  natural  universe  was  to  him 
no  mere  suffused  essence,  but  the  Father  of  all, 
never  for  a  moment  lost  in  His  own  works,  but 
who  inspires  them  and  uses  them  as  a  vast  organ- 
ism to  play  upon  and  shine  through.  Of  this  ever- 
present,  ever-speaking  God,  Wordsworth  felt  him- 
self called  to  be  a  minister.  Among  these  hills  in 
whose  sight  he  was  born,  he  lifted  his  eyes  anff 
tried,  — 

"  How  beautiful  this  dome  of  sky, 
And  the  vast  hills  in  fluctuation  fixed 


THE  LAKE  COUNTRY.  197 

At  Thy  command  how  awful !     Shall  the  soul, 

Human  and  rational,  report  of  Thee 

Even  .'ess  than  these  ?    Be  mute  who  will,  who  can, 

My  ups  that  may  forget  Thee  in  the  crowd, 

Cannot  forget  Thee  here  where  Thou  hast  built, 

For  thine  own  glory  in  the  wilderness ! 

Me  didst  Thou  constitute  a  priest  of  Thine." 

The  God  of  Nature  whom  he  joyfully  recognized, 
was  no  beautiful  impersonality  of  the  transcendent- 
alist,  but  a  being  whom  he  could  worship,  and 
with  whom  he  could  walk  in  "  amity  sublime." 
The  prayer  at  the  end  of  the  "  Excursion  "  is  warm 
with  religious  feeling.  "  The  serious  song  "  ends 
in  the  serener  hopes  and  light  of  heaven.  As  we 
love  to  quote  from  him  whose  words  are  as  melo- 
dious as  the  swellings  of  a  wind-harp,  we  shall  do 
60  abundantly. 

Wordsworth  was  too  great  a  man  not  to  accept 
the  inestimable  truth  of  the  Christian  faith,  and  its 
new  and  living  way  to  the  Divine  person  and  per- 
fection. But  he  was  one  whose  special  office  it 
was  to  interpret  God  as  manifested  in  Nature,  the 
second  book.  He  was  to  show  the  fine  relations 
of  Nature  to  the  soul,  as  a  voice  speaking  to  the 
Boul  of  its  wants,  origin,  and  aim,  even  as  God 
talked  with  Adam  in  the  garden. 

"  For  I  have  learned 
To  look  on  Nature,  not  as  iu  the  hour 
Of  thoughtless  youth ;  but  hearing  oftentimes 
The  still,  sad  mush  of  humanity." 

"  For  the  nun, 
Who,  in  thii  spirit,  communes  with  the  forms 
Of  Nature ;  who,  with  understanding  heart, 


198  OLD  ENGLAND. 

Doth  know  and  love  such  objects  as  excite 
No  morbid  passions,  no  disquietude, 
No  vengeance,  and  no  hatred,  needs  must  foat 
So  deeply,  that,  unsatisfied  with  aught 
Less  pure  and  exquisite,  he  cannot  choose 
But  seek  for  objects  of  a  kindred  love 
In  fellow-natures  and  a  kindred  joy. 
Accordingly,  he  by  degrees  perceives 
His  feelings  of  aversion  softened  down; 
A  holy  tenderness  pervade  his  frame. 

"  His  sanity  of  reason  not  impaired, 
Say,  rather,  all  bis  thoughts  now  flowing  clear, 
From  a  clear  fountain  flowing,  he  looks  round 
And  seeks  for  good ;  and  finds  the  good  he  seeks ; 
Until  abhorrence  and  contempt  are  things 
He  only  knows  by  name ;  and  if  he  hear 
From  other  mouths  the  language  which  they  speak, 
He  is  compassionate;  and  has  no  thought, 
No  feeling,  which  can  overcome  his  love." 

In  his  philosophy  of  Nature  he  had  a  deeper  view, 
I  verily  think,  than  is  generally  held,  —  than  is  even 
so  vigorously  set  forth  by  our  own  eloquent  Bush- 
nell,  —  which  regards  Nature  as  but  a  mechanical 
effect  or  result  of  certain  fixed  causes  ;  but  Nature 
is  a  more  vital  and  enduring  part  of  God's  work 
than  this.  It  is  a  more  true  and  intimate  manifes- 
tation of  God.  It  is  something  which  will  never 
cease  to  be.  This  Nature  in  which  we  are  inframed 
answers  to  the  subjective  frame-work  of  our  own 
mind,  is  necessary  to  its  life,  and  growth,  and  edu- 
cation, and  will  be  carried  with  us  in  its  essence  in- 
to another  state.  We  are  ourselves  a  part  of  this 
Nature.  It  is  something  in  ourselves,  which  is  the 
root  of  our  being  to  be  restored  and  built  upon. 
And  here,  in   Nature,  Wordsworth  anchored  hi* 


THE  LAKE  COUNTRY.  199 

moral  being  ;  and  he  was  the  great  moral  poet  of  the 
age.  He  found  the  law  of  God  written  in  nature,  — 
in  "  the  fleshly  tablets  of  the  heart/'  As  this  is  an 
imperishable  law,  so  the  nature  in  which  it  is 
engraved  is  imperishable.  And  he  drew  hence 
the  great  truth  upon  which  he  strikes  so  sweetly 
and  boldly  of  the  moral  equality  of  the  race. 

"  The  primal  duties  shine  aloft  —  like  stars; 
The  charities  that  soothe,  and  heal,  and  bless, 
Are  scattered  at  the  feet  of  man  like  flowers.  i 
The  generous  inclination,  the  just  rule, 
Kind  wishes,  and  good  actions,  and  free  thoughts  — 
No  mystery  is  here ;  no  special  boon 
For  high  and  not  for  low ;  for  proudly  graced  — 
And  not  for  meek  of  heart.     The  smoke  ascends 
To  heaven  as  lightly  from  the  cottage  hearth 
As  from  the  haughty  palace.    He,  whose  soul 
Ponders  this  true  equality,  may  walk 
The  fields  of  earth  with  gratitude  and  hope." 

This  led  him  to  respect  man  wherever  he  found 
him,  and  to  study  man.  His  walks  among  the  poor 
of  the  mountains  form  in  reality  the  simple  theme 
of  his  greatest  poem.  He  brought  forth  the  great- 
ness and  angelic  splendors  of  the  human  soul  in  its 
lowliest  estate.  He  was  a  Christian  poet  here. 
He  was  never  more  interested  than  when  studying 
how  to  benefit  the  poor,  to  educate  them,  to  im- 
prove and  invigorate  the  "  Poor  Laws,"  to  raise 
humanity.  He  sought  his  spring  of  poetry  amid 
the  sorrows,  joys,  and  experiences  of  the  most 
humble  of  his  fellow-beings.  This  also  made  him 
the  indomitable  poet  of  freedom.  With  what  p:  j- 
found  and  yet  indignant  spirit  he  exclaimed  :  — 


200  OLD  ENGLAND. 

"  If,  having  walked  with  Nature  threescore  years, 
And  offered,  far  as  frailty  would  allow, 
My  heart  a  daily  sacrifice  to  Truth, 
1  now  affirm  of  Nature  and  of  Truth, 
Whom  I  have  served,  that  their  divinity 
Revolts,  offended  at  the  ways  of  men." 

Here  ne  was  pathetic  when  he  had  lifted  up  some 
bruised  flower  of  humanity.  The  granite  rock 
which  was  in  his  nature,  and  generally  showed 
itself  impenetrably  hard,  melted  at  this  touch.  He 
has  been  charged  with  coldness  as  a  poet.  He 
may  have  been  reserved  and  unemotional  by  tem- 
perament, but  there  was  in  him  a  deep  fount  of 
tenderness,  to  which  the  descent  in  his  own  lan- 
guage "  was  by  the  steps  of  thought."  How  feel- 
ingly he  drew  the  trials  of  poor  Margaret,  and  how 
exquisitely  delicate  was  his  picture  of  Ellen,  whose 

"  Fond  maternal  heart  had  built  a  nest 
In  blindness  all  too  near  the  river's  °dge." 

How  he  loved  childhood  !  And  he  became  like 
a  little  child  with  Nature.  He  despised  nothing  in 
creation.  He  laughed  ana  sported  with  the  daffo- 
dils. In  words  as  familiar  now  as  any  that  Shak- 
speare  wrote  he  said  :  — 

"  To  me  the  meanest  flower  that  blows  can  give 
Thoughts  that  do  often  lie  too  deep  for  tears." 

And  he  did  not  care  whether  others  felt  or  be- 
Ueved  this  with  him  or  no,  as  far  as  his  own  senti- 
ment was  concerned.  Here  was  the  old  Scawfel 
crranite.  Others  would  come  around  to  him  hy 
and  by.    So  he  sang  with  bold  and  joyful  strain  :  -~ 


THE  LAKE  COUNTRY.  201 

u  Thou  art  not  beneath  the  moon 
But  a  thing  '  beneath  our  shoon '; 
Let,  as  old  Magellan  did, 
Others  roam  about  the  sea; 
Build  who  will  a  pyramid; 
Praise  it  is  enough  for  me 
If  there  be  but  three  or  four 
Who  will  love  my  little  flower." 

And  why  are  these  crowds  thronging  to  his  valiey 
»nd  his  grave,  if  thev  have  not  come  round  to  him? 
What  means  the  rich  subjective  element  which  has 
been  infused  into  English  literature,  if  his  pro- 
founder  ideas  have  not  begun  to  prevail  ?  What 
means  the  fine  analysis  of  Tennyson,  his  dwelling 
upon  lowly  and  simple  themes,  his  drawing  out  of 
a  deeper  soul  from  inanimate  things,  if  he  had  not 
drunk  into  the  spirit  of  this  great  master  of  true 
modern  poetry  ?  Wordsworth  was  the  poet  of 
progress,  — 

"A  man  of  hope  and  forward-looking  mind 
Even  to  the  last." 

His  idea  of  Nature  and  creation  led  to  unlimited 
search,  and  to  ever-widening  and  deepening 
thought,  because  he  discerned 

"  God  in  the  human  soul,  and  God  in  all  things." 

Rydal  Water  is  a  miniature  affair,  not  more  than 
half  a  mile  long,  but  its  mountain  guardians  of 
Loughrigg  Fell  and  Nab  Scar  make  it  lose  its 
lense  of  smallness ;  and  it  is  not  too  small  for 
*iany  little  gems 

"  Of  islands  that  together  lie, 
As  quietJv  as  spote  oi  sky 
Amongst  the  evening  clouds. ' 


202  OLD  ENGLAND. 

A  short  way  on  from  Rydal  Mere,  and  strung  to  it 
oy  a  silver  streamlet,  is  the  heart  of  all  the  lakes, 
Grasmere.  As  the  road  creeping  around  under  Nab 
Scar  passes  the  middle  part  of  the  lake,  it  runs  near 
the  "  Wishing  Gate "  sung  by  Wordsworth  in 
those  tripping  verses  with  such  solemn  ending. 
Here  one  looks  down  upon  one  of  the  most  lovely 
and  softly  peaceful  scenes  on  earth,  and  yet  with  a 
certain  sober  grandeur  about  it  quite  impossible  to 
describe.  Why  was  it  named  Grasmere  ?  Be- 
cause it  could  not  have  been  named  any  thing  else. 
There  is  a  grassy  margin  around  the  whole  shore 
of  the  lake,  spreading  out  into  dark  green  mead- 
ows at  its  upper  end  where  the  village  stands, 
and  climbing  up  almost  to  the  summits  of  the  bold 
cliffs  that  curl  their  edges  over  this  vale.  Just  op- 
posite rise  the  steep,  overhanging  heights  of  Silver 
How,  and  the  eye  running  along  its  wall  follows  it 
up  into  the  shadowy  recesses  of  the  lonely  glen  of 
Easedale.  At  the  head  of  the  lake  beyond  the  vil- 
lage, towers  the  noble  cliff  called  Helm  Crag,  not 
unlike  a  Roman  soldier's  nodding  crest,  if  that  were 
indeed  the  origin  of  its  name.  Back  of  it  are  the 
higher  mountains  that  lie  around  Thirlemere  Lake, 
and  I  do  not  remember  whether  one  can  catch  here 
a  glimpse  of  the  shoulder  of  Helvellyn  above  Seat 
Sandal  on  the  far  right. 

The  waveless  expanse  of  Grasmere,  with  its  one 
little  island,  spreads  out  before  one,  tranquilly  re- 
flecting all  this  beauty. 

A  little  further  on  we  came  to  Town  End,  anv- 


THE  LAKE  COUNTRY.  203 

law  the  humble  roof,  somewhat  out  of  the  village, 
beneath  which  Wordsworth  made  his  first  home. 
Here  he  brought  his  young  bride,  and  gathered 
his  soul-friends  —  Southey,  Coleridge,  Scott,  Lamb, 
Lloyd,  Wilson  —  about  him.  De  Quincey  also 
lived  here  after  him.  And  not  far  from  this  his 
first  home,  the  scene  of  his  first  works  and  studies, 
standing  at  the  very  head  of  the  lake,  is  the  small, 
square-towered,  rude  stone  church,  in  the  grave- 
yard of  which  he  sleeps. 

Within  the  church  there  is  a  marble  bas-relief 
of  his  farmer-like  yet  thoughtful  face,  and  a  just 
and  elaborate  inscription  placed  over  the  pew 
which  he  frequently  occupied.  I  will  not  stop  to 
transcribe  it. 

"  Green  is  the  churchyard,  heautiful  and  green, 
Ridge  rising  gently  by  the  side  of  ridge ; 
A  heaving  surface,  almost  wholly  free 
From  interruption  of  sepulchral  stones, 
And  mantled  o'er  with  aboriginal  turf 
And  everlasting  flowers.     These  dalesmen  trust 
The  lingering  gleam  of  their  departing  lives 
To  oral  records  and  the  silent  heart." 

Beneath  his  ridge  of  green,  with  a  simple  black 
slate-stone  at  its  head,  inscribed  simply  with  the 
name  of  William  Wordsworth,  among  the  dales- 
men and  humble  people  with  whom  he  daily 
walked,  sleeps  the  poet.  His  loved  sister,  and  his 
only  daughter  Dora,  and  her  husband  the  scholar 
Edward  Quillinan,  are  laid  by  his  side.  Between 
these  mounds  and  the  church  is  the  monument  of 
ooor  Hartley  Coleridge,  covered  with  a  cross-crown 


204  OLD  ENGLAND. 

and  thorns,  with  the  inscription  —  "  By  thy  cross 
and  passion,  good  Lord,  deliver  us!  " 

A  clear  little  stream  sings  past  the  very  edge  of 
these  grassy  mounds,  and  slides  into  the  soft  and 
ijuiet  lake  which  is  but  a  few  steps  distant.  The 
g^at  mountains  stand  watching  around.  The 
shadows  of  the  clouds  pass  silently  over  the  spot. 
Tho  otars  shine  upon  it. 

"As  in  the  eye  of  Nature  he  has  lived, 
So  in  the  eye  of  Nature  let  him  dk." 


CHAPTER  XH. 

THE    LAKE    COUNTRY    (CONTINUED.) 

I  stopped  awhile  at  the  "  Swan  "  to  take  my  last 
near  look  of  Grasmere,  and  then  went  slowly  up 
the  ascending  road  to  Dunmail  Raise,  which  was  a 
favorite  walk  of  Wordsworth's.  For  some  way  it 
goes  almost  in  the  shadow  of  Helm  Crag,  whose 
crest  presents  odd  combinations  of  rocks,  out  of 
which  any  one  has  as  much  right  as  the  poet  to 
form  grotesque  images.  Of  a  mass  of  tall  hob- 
nobbing rocks  that  stand  black  and  clear  against 
the  sky,  Wordsworth's  fancy  painted  this  little  Al- 
brecht-Diirer  picture  :  — 

"  The  Astrologer,  sage  Sidrophel, 
Where  at  his  desk  and  book  he  sits, 
Puzzling  on  high  his  curious  wits; 
He  whose  domain  is  held  in  common 
With  no  one  but  the  Ancient  Woman, 
Cowering  beside  her  rifted  cell, 
As  if  intent  on  magic  spell ; 
Dread  pair,  that  spite  of  wind  and  weather, 
Still  sit  upon  Helm  Crag  together." 

And   the    whole    group  of    rocks    and   mountains 
uround    was   gathered    up   in    a    picture    in   these 


'ines :  — 


"  The  rock  like  something  starting  from  a  sleep, 
Took  up  the  lady's  voice  and  laughed  again ; 


206  OLD  ENGLAND. 

That  Ancient  Woman  seated  on  Helm  Crag 
Was  ready  with  her  cavern :  Hammer  Scar, 
And  the  tall  steep  of  Silver  How  sent  forth 
A  noise  of  laughter,  southern  Loughrigg  heard, 
And  Fairfield  answered  with  a  mountain  tone: 
Helvellyn  far  into  the  clear  blue  sky 
Carried  the  lady's  voice;  old  Skiddaw  blew 
His  speaking-trumpet ;  back  out  of  the  clouds 
Of  Glaramara  southward  came  the  voice; 
And  Kirkstoue  tossed  it  from  his  misty  head." 

Further  to  the  south  of  these  hills  lies  the  Obev- 
land  Alp  region  of  this  whole  district,  the  moun- 
tainous  group  standing  about  desolate  and  savage 
Wast  Water,  and  which  is  said  to  be  very  wild 
and  grand.  Here  are  the  two  Scawfell  mountains, 
one  of  them  the  highest  peak  of  England.  This  is 
a  granite  tract ;  the  rest  of  these  mountains  are 
generally  of  schistose  slate,  forming  what  has  been 
compared  to  a  slate  dome,  rising  to  its  greatest 
height  in  Skiddaw  and  Helvellyn,  and  surrounded 
by  a  rim  of  old  red  sandstone,  limestone,  and  coal, 
the  latter  being  found  in  great  quantities  near  the 
sea,  in  the  neighborhood  of  Cockermouth  and 
Workington.  The  summit  of  the  Pass  at  Dunmail 
Raise  is  six  miles  and  a  half  from  Ambleside,  and 
here  a  new  picture  is  revealed  which  may  be  said 
to  belong  to  the  Helvellyn  circle.  That  mountain, 
with  its  long  furrowed  southern  sweep,  predomi- 
nates over  the  scene,  and  at  this  moment  veils  its 
head  in  the  clouds.  At  its  base  sleeps  the  narrow 
lake  of  Thirlemere,  or  Leatheswater,  so  narrow  as 
to  be  bridged  over  in  one  place,  —  a  cold  and  shad 
3wy  sheet  of  water,  overhung  at  its  lower  end  will? 


THE  LAKE  COUNTRY.  207 

perpendicular  rocks,  especially  one  called  Raven 
Crag.  Yet  when  the  sun  flashed  out  again,  even 
Thirlemere  smiled  back  like  a  sister  to  her  bic 
mountain  brother  as  the  scowl  passed  away  from 
his  forehead.  Some  two  miles  on  in  the  descent  is 
the  miniature  chapel  of  Wytheburn,  and  from  Nag's 
Head  Inn  on  the  other  side  of  the  road  directly  at 
the  foot  of  Helvellyn,  the  ascent  of  that  mountain 
is  usually  made,  though  this  is  a  steeper  path  than 
from  the  Patterdale  side.  Looking  up  here  at  the 
broad  and  rugged  slope  of  the  mountain,  my  youth- 
ful reader  will  not  forget  the  story  of  young 
Charles  Gough,  who  fell  from  Striding  Edge  preci- 
pice, and  his  faithful  little  terrier  that  kept  three 
months'  watch  over  his  dead  body. 

Helvellyn  rises  gradually  from  a  wide-grasping 
base  in  great  steps  or  terraces,  and  is  so  singularly 
formed  and  placed,  that  it  is  one  of  the  most  diffi- 
cult of  all  the  great  mountains  to  be  seen  in  its  en- 
tire shape.  Being  centrally  situated,  the  view 
from  its  summit  is  the  finest  in  the  region,  extend- 
ing on  the  north  to  the  highlands  of  Scotland. 
The  whole  character  of  the  mountain  justifies  Hart- 
ley Coleridge's  epithet  of  "  drear  Helvellyn." 

The  road  to  Keswick  led  past  the  cloven  gate 
of  the  narrow  and  romantic  Vale  of  St.  John,  the 
scene  of  Scott's  "  Bridal  of  Triermain."  It  runs 
iloncr  under  Naddle  Fell,  and  near  its  head  towers 
th&  singular  architectural  ruck,  that 

"  Seemed  some  primeval  giant'&  hand 
The  castle's  massive  walls  had  planned." 


208  OLD   ENGLAND. 

From  the  hill  of  Castlerigg  we  gained  a  fine 
afternoon  view  of  the  broad  resplendent  vale  of 
Keswick,  with  its  two  lakes  and  river,  the  tumult- 
uous sea  of  the  Derwentwater  and  Buttermere 
mountains  on  the  south  side  robed  in  purple  shad- 
ows and  golden  lights,  and  Skiddaw  with  its  two 
peaks  in  lone  majesty  on  the  north.  For  large  and 
beautiful  scenery  perhaps  this  is  the  finest  part  of 
the  Lake  region.  At  least  South ey  and  Coleridge 
thought  so.  It  is  not  a  solitary  inner  mountain 
shrine,  like  Wordsworth's  home,  where  his  self-sus- 
tained genius  could  dwell  apart ;  but  it  is  a  free  and 
open  spot,  at  the  same  time  cheerful  and  grand. 
This  is  the  circle  of  Skiddaw,  a  noble  mountain 
rising  easily  out  of  the  plain  in  gentle  undulating 
lines,  and  yet  from  the  fact  that  it  stands  alone, 
and  shows  its  whole  bulk,  it  is  a  finer  mountain 
than  Helvellyn,  which  is  larger. 

The  afternoon  was  so  beautiful,  that  although 
the  sun  was  setting,  I  determined  to  see  the  length 
of  lovely  Derwentwater,  and  come  home  by  the 
light  of  the  stars.  The  lake  is  but  half  a  mile  from 
Keswick,  by  a  broad  walk  that  forms  the  public 
promenade  of  the  town.  The  opposite  mountains 
lying  between  Derwentwater  and  Buttermere  and 
Crummock  Lakes,  of  which  Causey  Pike,  Greisdale 
°ike,  and  far-off  Wythop  Fells,  are  the  highest 
summits,  form  a  broken  tumultuous  group,  a  forest 
of  mountains,  peak  beyond  peak,  and  at  the  mo- 
ment were  richly  tinted  and  softened  by  the  sunset 
iigflts,  that  grew  every  moment  mistier  and  drean* 


THE  LAKE  COUNTRY  209 

ier  and  deeper  in  their  purples  and  violets.  It 
does  not  require  the  highest  mountains  like  the 
Alp?  to  awaken  feelings  of  pure  pleasure  and  sub- 
limity. All  mountain  regions  have  more  or  less  of 
this  power.  Our  American  hills  will  make  their 
own  poets  ;  and  have  already  served  to  refresh  and 
purify  thousands  of  minds.  God  doubtless  meant 
them  for  this  as  well  as  for  lower  uses.  Coming 
out  of  such  a  "  valley  of  the  shadow  of  death  "  as 
that  of  the  Aar  into  the  sweet  vales  of  Imhof  and 
Meyringen,  one  gets  glimpses  of  truth  that  no  other 
Nature  can  teach.  The  soul  covets  great  emotions. 
These  the  mountains  give.  They  brace  the  mind 
to  grand  purposes.  And  such  delicate  atmospheric 
phenomena,  such  a  blue  in  the  sky,  such  marvelous 
tints  upon  the  rocks,  such  ethereal  purity  if  one 
goes  into  the  heart  of  the  glaciers,  —  these  are  next 
to  impressions  of  things  spiritual. 

But  I  am  getting  away  from  a  fine  English  lake, 
if  it  be  not  a  Swiss  one.  I  called  it  "  lovely " 
Derwentwater  ;  it  deserves  a  stronger  epithet  than 
that ;  for  although  the  mountains  about  it  are  not 
high,  yet  they  are  so  steep,  so  broken,  forming  such 
Bhadowy  bays,  and  piling  up  so  boldly  toward  the 
eastern  Borrowdale  end,  that  the  scenery  really 
merits  the  title  of  grand.  Each  lake  has  its  own 
character.  Taking  away  the  associations,  I  was 
more  impressed  with  the  mingled  grandeur  and 
loveliness  of  Derwentwater  than  with  the  beauty 
fef  any  of  the  other  lakes. 

I  set  forth  on  the  placid  water  under  the  guid« 

14 


210  OLD  ENGLAND. 

ance  of  a  veteran  oarsman  named  William  Pear 
son,  whose  tongue  ran  like  that  of  an  old  man, 
and  sensibly  too.  Talking  confidentially  of  some 
Americans  he  had  taken  out  but  a  short  time  be- 
fore on  the  lake,  he  said  he  never  saw  people  with 
so  much  "  bounce."  Good  !  but  we  come  fairly 
by  it,  friend  Pearson  of  the  white  locks  ! 

This  western  end  of  the  lake  appears  mountain- 
locked,  and  one  does  not  see  here  the  whole  extent 
of  the  water.  We  rowed  directly  over  to  Vicar's 
Isle,  a  wooded  island  of  six  acres,  containing  a 
gentleman's  residence  hidden  among  the  trees. 
Passing  this  we  struck  out  into  the  middle  of  the 
lake,  going  by  Lord's  Island,  and  St.  Herbert's 
Isle,  where  was  once  a  little  chapel  dedicated  to 
Saints  Herbert  and  Cuthbert,  who  had  such  love 
for  each  other,  that 

"  Though  here  the  hermit  numbered  his  last  day, 
Far  from  St.  Cuthbert  his  beloved  friend, 
Those  holy  men  both  died  in  the  same  hour ' 

The  margin  of  the  lake  is  luxuriantly  wooded, 
and  on  the  northern  shore  there  is  a  strip  of 
meadow-land.  Rich  vegetation  clothes  the  steep 
slopes  of  the  mountains.  How  still  the  water  over 
which  we  glided  !  Now  and  then  a  silver-sided 
trout  would  leap  above  the  surface  as  if  to  catch 
("he  last  lingering  light.  We  pushed  in  among  the 
leng  weeds  off  the  Inn  of  Lodore  when  the  twilight 
was  almost  gone,  and  walked  fast  up  to  the  mouth 
of  the  ravine  where  the  "  Falls  of  Lodore  "  ought 
*o  be.     Owing  to  the  excessively  dry  season  ther 


THE  LAKE  COUNTRY.  211 

were  rather  a  tinkling  trumpery  affair,  and  did  not 
some  up  to  the  roaring  and  pouring  part  of  the 
ode.  But  a  very  respectable  precipice  rose  back 
of  the  gorge,  and  the  rocks  were  heaped  around 
in  wild  confusion.  After  taking  a  look  at  the  end 
of  the  lake,  (not  very  distant,  for  we  went  near- 
ly its  whole  length  and  made  out  some  of  the 
Borrowdale  mountains  that  close  around  it,)  we 
turned  our  faces  toward  Keswick.  The  row  back 
was  by  the  starlight.  A  faint  tinge  of  light  lin- 
gered long  upon  the  western  slope  of  Skiddaw  in 
front  of  us,  which  here  appeared  like  a  rounding 
range  or  crown  of  mountains,  rather  than  a  single 
mountain.  Over  the  highest  peak  of  Skiddaw  glit- 
tered one  large  bright  star  !  The  mountain  shadows 
lay  dark  on  the  edges  of  the  glassy  mirror.  But  in 
the  centre  there  was  a  silver  expanse,  and  through 
this  the  boat  left  a  path  like  a  string  of  pearls,  and 
even  the  old  boatman,  who  looked  upon  the  lake  as 
his  farm  and  fish-pond,  was  subdued  by  the  calm- 
ness of  the  scene.  On  landing  he  showed  us  a 
larjze  battered  boat  that  he  said  Mr.  Southev  used 
to  use  for  picnics  on  St.  Herbert's  Island.  He  also 
had  pointed  out  to  us  a  commanding  rock,  or 
promontory,  which  Southey  always  showed  to  his 
friends  and  visitors  as  a  place  where  he  should  like 
to  build  a  house. 

The  home  comes  before  the  grave.  "  Greta 
Hall,"  standing  aside  from  the  principal  street  of 
Keswick  on  a  grassy  mound,  at  the  foot  of  which 
*uns  the   "  carolling "   Greta,  and   having  on   the 


212  OLD   ENGLAND. 

other  side  nothing  between  it  and  Skiddaw,  is  now 
the  property  of  an  English  bachelor  of  literary  and 
scientific  tastes,  who,  it  is  said,  holds  the  memory 
of  its  former  occupant  in  enthusiastic  veneration. 
While  the  place  is  in  fine  order,  it  has  been  pre- 
served almost  in  the  exact  condition  in  which 
Southey  left  it.  It  is  a  plain  tall  white  house,  with 
vines  running  over  the  lower  part  of  it.  It  has  an 
air  of  comfort  without  being  at  all  fine.  There  is 
a  sloping  grass-plot  in  front  bordered  with  thick 
shrubs  and  trees,  and  the  gardener  pointed  out  to 
us  the  spot  where  Southey  watched  for  his  daughter 
coming  home  through  the  hawthorn  walk.  One 
gets  a  fine  view  here  across  the  plain  of  the  moun- 
tains on  the  other  side  of  Derwentwater.  The 
gardener  told  me  (these  were  his  very  words)  that 
"  Mr.  Southey  when  he  walked  always  looked  up 
into  the  element."  He  said,  "  Poor  man,  before 
he  died,  he  was  better  pleased  with  rolling  marbles 
than  any  thing  else ;  and  he  could  not  tell  one  book 
from  another,  though  he  handled  them  through 
custom."  I  went  into  the  room  which  was  South- 
ey's  library,  that  once  consisted  of  more  than 
7000  volumes  ;  it  is  now  occupied  by  a  scientific 
collection.  I  also  saw  the  room  where  the  poet 
died,  a  small  apartment  looking  out  upon  some 
gloomy  fir-trees  ;  and  was  then  shown  Coleridge's 
part  of  the  house.  His  wife  and  Mrs.  Southey  it  is 
well  known  were  sisters.  T  afterward  went  down 
to  the  bank  of  the  Greta,  a  babbling  and  cheerful 
stream,  and  looked  up  at  Skiddaw,  which  begins  te 


TIIE  LAKE  COUNTRY.  213 

rise  from  this  point  in  a  huge  mass  directly  above. 
The  poet  had  made  a  true  selection  of  a  home.  Yet 
Southey  drew  more  from  his  library  within,  than 
from  Greta  or  Skiddaw  without.  He  did  not,  like 
Wordsworth,  repose  on  the  bosom  of  Nature,  and 
want  nothing  else  for  nourishment.  He  depended 
upon  his  books  ;  and  even  his  poetry  was  but  a 
kind  of  glow  around  the  edges  of  his  vast  historical 
lore.  But  what  poetry  he  did  write  was  noble  and 
pure.  Would  that  his  pure  unadulterated  English 
were  more  imitated  by  the  writers  of  the  day.  He 
did  not  falsify  his  art,  nor  strain  after  a  clap-trap 
effect.  He  was  the  scholar  of  that  great  trium^ 
virate  of  which  Wordsworth  was  the  poet,  and 
Coleridge  the  philosopher.  I  cannot  leave  this  spot 
without  saying  a  Avord  about  Coleridge.  This  was 
the  home  of  some  of  his  most  creative  days.  It  is 
the  small  fashion  now  among  a  certain  class  to  dis- 
parage Coleridge,  to  lessen  his  philosophical  name, 
and  to  follow  De  Quincey  in  his  charges.  These 
charges  are  simply  absurd.  An  American  scholar 
of  unquestioned  integrity  told  me  that  in  a  con- 
versation not  many  years  since  with  Schelling,  the 
philosopher  referred  with  approbation  to  those  very 
passages  in  the  "  Biographia  Literaria "  that  De 
Quincey  said  were  plagiarized,  and  evidently  with 
no  idea  that  they  were  taken  from  him.  He  spoke 
of  Coleridge  as  the  greatest  English  philosophical 
mind.  Coleridge  had  no  need  to  take  from  Schel!- 
jng  or  any  one  else.  They  had  both,  it  is  true, 
drunk  from  the  same  fount  of  Kantian  philosophy 


214  OLD  ENGLAND. 

an  J  their  samenesses  of  expression  probably  arose  in 
the  following  way :  Coleridge's  literary  habits  were 
careless ;  in  lis  youth  when  in  Germany  he  had 
nade  notes  from  Schelling's  lectures,  laid  them 
aside  and  forgotten  them  ;  when  renewing  the  same 
(studies  he  referred  to  his  German  notes,  probably 
/iupposed  they  were  his  own,  and  freely  used  them  ; 
but  he  seems  to  have  had  a  suspicion  that  they 
were  not  all  his  own,  and  he  therefore  says  in 
no  many  words,  that  what  things  wrere  not  his  he 
would  wish  to  lay  no  claim  to  and  take  no  credit 
for,  or  something  to  that  effect.  It  is  a  shame  to 
charge  so  great  and  generous  a  soul  as  Coleridge 
with  the  petty  sin  of  pilfering.  As  to  his  opium- 
eating,  brought  on  by  using  opium  under  the  advice 
of  a  physician,  it  has  been  distinctly  denied  by  his 
own  family  that  he  died  in  this  habit.  He  had 
become,  after  an  affecting  conflict,  a  penitent  and 
reformed  man.  His  last  days  were  those  of  a 
humble,  trusting  Christian.  His  mind  was  taken 
up  with  spiritual  contemplations.  His  end  was 
beautifully  peaceful  and  childlike.  It  will  yet  be 
acknowledged  how  much  England  and  Christianity 
owe  Coleridge.  He  taught  the  reasonableness  of 
Christianity.  He  showed  that  it  met  with  the 
highest  reason  in  man.  He  opposed  the  devas- 
tating current  of  the  sensational  school  with  a 
ieeper  current.  He  was  almost  the  only  English- 
man who  sought  for  or  apprehended  the  true  and 
universal,  in  philosophy  as  in  faith  ;  and  whatever 
England  possesses  of  philosophy  which  is  more  pro 


TIIE  LAKE  COUNTRY.  215 

found  than  the  utilitarian  system  now  upheld  by  an 
ability  and  persistency  worthy  of  a  better  cause,  is 
due  to  Coleridge.  The  Reids,  Stewarts,  and  Ham- 
iltons,  could  not  compare  with  him  in  originality  and 
depth  of  insight,  if  their  mechanical  skill  in  system- 
making  was  greater. 

Let  the  young  men  of  America  who  wish  to  try 
their  minds  in  such  high  and  difficult  studies,  not 
go  altogether  to  Comte,  Cousin,  and  the  French 
school,  or  to  the  profounder  school  of  Germany, 
but  begin  to  study  Coleridge,  who,  with  the  ex- 
ception of  Lord  Bacon,  was  the  deepest  and  richest 
English  philosophical  mind.  He  will  aid  them  to 
believe,  and  lead  them  to  a  truer  and  deeper  faith 
instead  of  shipwrecking  their  faith.  Why  in  truth 
do  we  need  to  go  outside  of  this  little  England  of 
our  fathers  for  any  thing,  when  it  comprehends 
such  minds  as  Lord  Bacon,  Shakspeare,  Milton, 
and  Coleridge ! 

I  made  a  pilgrimage  to  the  burial-place  of  Cole- 
ridge at  Highgate,  so  long  renowned  as  a  rural 
suburb  of  London,  a  kind  of  northern  Richmond 
Hill.  In  front  of  Dr.  Gilman's  house  is  a  row  of 
elm-trees  under  which  Coleridge  used  to  walk, 
"  and  think  of  eternity."  The  old  man  who  showed 
me  about  the  place  said  :  "  Mr.  Coleridge  used  to 
walk  as  if  he  was  always  studyin'  and  explainin'  to 
himself,  which  gave  him  a  kind  o'  curous  look." 
The  poet  was  actually  buried  beneath  the  old 
cimrch  which  is  now  removed.  The  vault  is  in- 
scribed  with    the   initaly    S.  T.  C.   and  the   date 


216  OLD  ENGLAND. 

1834.  His  monument,  however,  erected  by  Dr. 
Gilman,  is  upon  the  inside  wall  of  the  new  church, 
a  fine  edifice  standing;  at  some  little  distance  from 
the  site  of  the  old,  and  from  whose  back  windows 
is  perhaps  the  most  magnificent  prospect  of  London 
that  can  be  found,  with  St.  Paul's  in  the  centre. 
The  inscription  I  give  in  full  as  the  testimony  of 
one  who  knew  him,  and  who  is  an  unchallenged 
witness :  — 

"  Sacred  to  the  memory  of 

SAMUEL  TAYLOR  COLERIDGE, 

Poet,  Philosopher,  Theologian. 

This  truly  great  and  good  man  resided  for 

the  last  nineteen  years  of  his  life 

in  this  hamlet  : 

He  quitted  '  the  body  of  this  death  ' 

July  25th,  1834,    # 

in  the  6ixty-second  year  of  his  age. 

Of  his  profound  learning  and  discursive  genina 

his  literary  works  are  an  imperishable  record. 

To  his  private  worth, 

his  social  and  Christian  virtues, 

JAMES  AND  ANN  GILMAN, 

the  friends  with  whom  he  lived 

during  the  above  period,  dedicate  this  tablet. 

Under  the  pressure  of  a  long 

and  most  painful  disease, 

his  disposition  was  unalterably  sweet  and  angelic. 

He  was  an  ever-enduring,  ever-loving  friend: 

the  gentlest  and  kindest  teacher: 

the  most  engaging  home-companion." 

We  add  the  well-known  epitaph  written  by  Cole- 
ritlge  himself  a  month  or  two  before  his  death :  — 

"  Stop,  Christian  passer-by  !     Stop,  child  of  God  ! 
And  read  with  gentle  heart.     Beneath  this  sod 
A  poet  lies,  or  that  which  once  seemed  he  : 
Oh  lift  in  thought  a  prayer  for  S.  T.  C., 


THE  LAKE  COUNTRY.  217 

That  he,  who  many  a  year  with  toil  of  breath 

Found  death  in  life,  may  here  find  life  in  death  ! 

Mercy  for  praise  —  to  be  forgiven  for  fame 

He  asked,  and  hoped,  through  Christ.    Do  thou  the  same." 

We  now  come  back  to  Greta  Hall.  Walking 
down  a  side  road,  past  what  was  once  the  real  front 
or  lawn  of  Southey's  house,  and  crossing  the  bridge 
over  the  Greta,  I  came  to  Crosthwaite  Church.  It 
is  more  of  an  edifice  than  the  church  of  Grasmere, 
and  yet  it  has  something  of  the  same  rude  sim- 
plicity. These  words  of  Wordsworth,  which  might 
also  describe  many  an  English  rural  church,  would 
give  a  true  idea  of  it :  — 

"  Not  framed  to  nice  proportions  was  the  pile, 
But  large  and  massy,  for  duration  built; 
With  pillars  crowded  and  the  roof  upheld 
By  naked  rafters  intricately  crossed, 
Like  leafless  under-boughs  in  some  thick  grove. 
All  withered  by  the  depth  of  shade  above. 
Admonitory  texts  inscribed  the  walls, 
Each  in  its  ornamental  scroll  inclosed; 
Each  also  crowned  with  winged  heads  —  a  pair 
Of  rudely  painted  cherubim.     The  floor 
Of  nave  and  aisle  in  unpretending  guise 
Was  occupied  by  oaken  benches  ranged 
In  seemly  rows;  the  chancel  only  showed 
Some  inoffensive  marks  of  earthly  state 
And  vain  distinction.    A  capacious  pew 
Of  sculptured  oak  stood  here,  with  drapery  lined; 
And  marble  monuments  were  here  displayed 
Upon  the  walls;  and  on  the  floor  beneath 
Sepulchral  stones  appeared  with  emblems  graven, 
And  foot-worn  epitaphs,  and  some  with  small 
And  shin  ng  effigies  of  brass  inlaid." 

Set  tnis  on  a  solitary  spot,  with  the  circle  oi 
mountains  around,  and  you  have  the  place  where 
4ie   scholar   and   poet   Southey  has   his  last  rest. 


218  OLD  ENGLAND. 

Within  the  church  there  is  a  monument  to  hirn^ 
with  a  white  marble  reclining  figure,  finely  done, 
though  there  is  an  uneasy  posture  of  the  head. 
Wordsworth,  who  knew  him  best,  wrote  the  lines 
inscribed  upon  the  monument:  — 

"  Ye  vales  and  hills  whose  beauties  hither  drew 
The  Poet's  steps,  and  fixed  them  here,  on  you 
His  eyes  have  closed !     And  ye  loved  books,  no  mora 
Shall  Southey  feed  upon  your  precious  lore; 
To  works  that  ne'er  shall  forfeit  their  renown, 
Adding  immortal  labors  of  his  own  ; 
Whether  he  traced  historic  truth  with  zeal, 
For  the  State's  guidance,  the  Church's  weal, 
Or  Fancy,  disciplined  by  studious  art, 
Informed  his  pen,  or  Wisdom  of  the  heart, 
Or  Judgment,  sanctioned  in  the  patriot's  mind, 
By  reverence  for  the  rights  of  all  mankind; 
AVide  were  his  aims,  yet  in  no  human  breast 
Could  private  feelings  find  a  holier  nest. 
3 lis  Joys,  his  Griefs,  have  vanished  like  a  cloud 
From  Skiddaw's  top;  but  he  to  Heaven  was  vowed 
Through  a  long  life  and  pure ;   and  Christian  Faith 
Calmed  in  his  soul  the  fear  of  Change  and  Death." 

In  the  churchyard,  with  a  slab  of  black  slate- 
stone  at  its  head,  like  that  at  Wordsworth's  grave, 
is  the  grave  of  Southey,  with  this  inscription : 
"  Here  lies  the  body  of  Robert  Southey,  LL.  D., 
Poet  Laureate.  Born  August  12,  1774 ;  Died 
March  21, 1843.  For  forty  years  a  resident  in  this 
parish.  Also  of  Edith,  his  wife.  Born  May  20 
1774  ;  Died  Nov.  16,  1837." 

It  was  no  fancy  at  all,  but  as  I  stood  there  a 
slight  cloud  of  mist  was  just  detaching  itself  from 
me  top  of  Skiddaw,  as  in  the  figure  of  Word*. 
*Torth. 


CHAPTER   Xin. 

TWEEDMOUTH    TO    HAWOR1H. 

We  nave  now  come  across  England  to  Berwick 
Dn  the  river  Tweed,  and  shall  go  down  to  London 
on  the  eastern  side,  —  though  an  Englishman 
would  call  coming  up  from    London    to    Scotland 


"  going  down." 


Berwick-upon-Tweed  is  a  venerahle  sea-stained 
town,  with  a  long  and  massive  stone  pier  looking 
out  on  the  German  Ocean.  It  is  surrounded  by  a 
wall  that  has  stood  the  brunt  of  many  a  hard  con- 
test between  two  stubborn  and  still  unmixed  na- 
tions in  the  Border  wars.  This  is  the  famous 
Teviot-dale  and  Chevv-Chace  region. 

We  here  enter  Northumberland,  (Northumbrian 
land,)  the  scene  of  innumerable  legends,  in  every 
vale  that  runs  inland,  and  upon  every  sandy  hil- 
lock that  stands  on  the  sea-shore  ;  the  home  of  the 
Percy,  whose  name  starts  armed  men  from  the 
earth. 

The  railway  from  Berwick  to  Alnwick,  thirty 
miles,  is  in  sight  of  the  sea  nearly  all  the  way.  It 
passes  by  Belford,  and  by  Bamborough  Castle, 
near  which  places,  off  the  coast,  are  the  Fain 
Islands,    where  Grace    Darhx.g  did  those   achieve- 


220  OLD  ENGLAND. 

ments  that  make  bearded  men  silent  when  they 
think  of  them. 

Tliis  was  the  same  Bamborough  of  the  old  "  Bat- 
tle of  Otterbourne  "  ballad  :  — 

"  Yf  thou  hast  hanged  all  Bambarowe  shyre, 
Thou  hast  done  me  grete  envye ; 
For  the  trespasse  thou  hast  me  done, 
The  tane  of  us  schall  dye." 

Alnwick,  a  little  to  the  west  of  the  North  British 
Railway,  and  reached  by  a  short  junction  line  of 
three  miles,  is  a  clean  and  stately  town  of  seven  or 
eight  thousand  inhabitants.  It  has  the  peculiar  air 
of  a  "  family  town,"  not  precisely  the  dependency, 
but  the  historical  background,  the  natural  "  belong- 
ing  "  of  an  illustrious  race.  It  is  overshadowed  by 
one  mighty  name  from  which  it  derives  its  own 
light  and  importance.  The  flashily  painted  omni- 
bus from  the  Railway  station  rattles  through  the 
narrow  and  sullen  old  "  Bondgate,"  said  to  have 
been  built  by  "  Hotspur  "  himself. 

Alnwick  Castle  did  not  disappoint  me,  though  I 
had  always  thought  of  it  as  the  "  Ilium  "  of  Eng- 
land's historic  story.  It  is  a  vast  accumulation  of 
masonry  grouped  around  tall  central  towers.  It 
has  sixteen  of  these  towers,  and  its  whole  masa 
spreads  over  five  acres.  Round  and  angular  bas- 
tions of  different  heights  give  it  a  noble  irregularity 
of  outline,  but  it  is  bare  of  that  beautiful  "  shawl- 
ing "  of  ivy  and  green  that  covers  the  old  bonea 
?f  other  English  castles.  It  seems  to  say :  "  I  an* 
?trong  and  young  still.     I  want  no  covering  for  my 


TWEEDMOUTH  TO  HAWORTII.  221 

age.  I  can  defend  myself  against  all  storms."  Il 
is  stone,  stone,  stone,  everywhere,  with  not  a  green 
thing  within  and  without.  At  least  this  is  my  re- 
membrance of  it.  Over  the  barbican,  as  you  enter, 
stands  an  armed  figure  in  stone,  in  the  act  of  hurl- 
ing a  rock  on  the  head  of  any  who  dare  approach  ; 
and  around  the  battlements  are  the  effigies  of  other 
warriors  in  animated  fightine;  attitudes.  Such  a 
stout,  world-defying  old  pile  is  it,  that  a  man,  if  he 
has  never  done  so  before  or  after,  feels  himself  a 
hero  while  under  the  shadow  of  its  lofty  walls. 

I  was  permitted  only  to  see  its  three  outer  courts, 
not  the  interior  apartments.  Some  visitor  a  few 
years  since  wrote  in  a  disparaging  strain  of  the 
Duke's  building  operations  at  Alnwick,  and  since 
then  strangers  have  not  been  freely  admitted. 
This  was  a  disappointment,  but  I  gained  a  good 
impression  nevertheless  of  the  stronghold  of  the 
Percies,  and  of  the  "  great  Northumberland." 
Going  through  the  low-arched  gateway,  that 
seemed  to  echo  still  with  the  ring  of  steel-clad 
men  and  horses,  one  comes  upon  a  noble  view  of 
the  main  body  of  the  castle,  rising  in  rectangular 
*-owers  partly  modern  and  partly  antique.  Here  is 
n.  large  outer  court,  where  a  small  army  might  as- 
semble. In  the  second  court,  you  see  the  immense 
preparations  for  the  modern  kitchen  department 
not  yet  finished.  You  are  shown  the  place  in  the 
walls  called  the  "  Bloody  Gap  "  through  which  the 
Scots  forced  their  way  under  King  Malcolm,  who 
•vas  slain  at  a  short  distance  from  the  wall. 


222  OLD   ENGLAND. 

In  the  smaHer  inner  court,  surrounded  by  dark, 
high,  gloomy  towers,  the  stern  heart  of  this 
strength,  near  the  Saxon  gate,  is  the  prison  where 
William  the  Lion  was  confined.  Here  the  porter 
cracked  a  harmless  and  venerable  joke.  "  King 
Malcolm,"  said  he,  "  was  killed  at  the  Bloody  Gap 
a  tryin'  to  ruin  the  Duke  o'  Northoomberlan' ;  and 
this  her  same  Malcolm's  gran'daughter,  mind  you, 
sir,  was  glad  to  set  a  Duke  o'  Northoomberlan'  for 
a  hoosband."  How  the  worthy  seneschal  of  the 
Percies  giggled  and  shook  at  this  mouldy  bit  of 
family  lore  in   the  gloom  of  that  dusky  dungeon  ! 

Architectural  works  of  great  magnitude  are  stiT 
going  on  within  and  without  the  castle,  and  tha 
courtyards  are  encumbered  with  blocks  of  stone. 
The  whole  enormous  mass  of  buildings  hangs  over 
the  bright  little  stream  of  the  Alne,  beyond  which 
the  view  is  broken  and  wooded.  Half  a  mile  up 
the  river  amid  the  shadows  of  aged  trees,  is  the 
romantic  Warkworth  Hermitage,  a  chapel  and  two 
chambers  hewn  in  the  side  of  a  cliff:  — 

"  There  scooped  within  the  solid  rock 
Three  sacred  vaults  he  shows." 

The  first  part  of  the  ride  from  Alnwick  to  New 
castle,  (sixty-three  and  a  half  miles,)  passes  through 
the  beautiful  region  of  the  Wansbeck  River  and 
the  Blyth.  The  deep  gorges,  the  clear  streams 
dancing  to  the  sea,  and  the  green  undulating  hills, 
with  here  and  there  a  clump  of  red-roofed  farm 
houses,  with  their  prim  hay-ricks,  formed  anothei 
lingular  contrast  to  the  barren  and  smutchy  coa» 


TWEEDMOUTII   TO   HAWORTH.  22c! 

region  of  Newcastle-upon-Tyne.  This  city  may  bo 
compared  to  a  big  pitch-pot  —  the  black  Tyne  an- 
swering for  the  simmering  liquid  decoction,  and  the 
ships,  houses,  carts,  and  men,  for  the  bubbles.  The 
railway  stretches  directly  over  the  river  and  city  to 
the  height  of  120  feet.  Dimly  seen  through  the 
clouds  of  smoky  vapor,  rises  the  grim  tower  of 
Robert,  son  of  William  the  Conqueror,  with  the 
crimson  flag  of  England  floating  from  its  battle- 
ments.  The  bridges,  houses,  and  sails  of  the  ship- 
ping are  also  black.  Every  thing  is  hung  in  vest- 
ments of  sable,  though  it  is  reported  by  those  who 
have  been  able  to  see  them  that  there  are  fine 
streets  and  magnificent  buildings,  and  all  the  signs 
of  flourishing  opulence  in  this  dark-browed  capital 
of  coal. 

On  the  way  to  Durham,  which  is  fourteen  and  a 
half  miles  from  Newcastle,  we  passed  by  "  Wash- 
ington," a  place  with  three  chimneys,  and  the  re- 
mains of  an  old  broken  steam-boiler. 

Durham  is  perhaps  the  most  picturesquely  situ- 
ated town  in  England.  It  is  placed  upon  a  rocky 
hill  that  rises  abruptly  from  the  banks  of  the  Wear, 
'ts  sides  covered  with  thick  foliage,  and  on  its  high- 
•st  summit  stands  the  Cathedral,  with  its  three 
hquare  towers.  The  old  monks  built  like  emper- 
ors. They  crowned  every  city,  and  wrote  upon 
the  verv  heavens,  as  it  were,  the  insignia  of  their 
heaven-delegated  power*.  The  house  or  castle  of 
the  king  had  to  take  a  lower  place.  When  Rich- 
ttrd  Coeur  de  Lion  left  for  the  Holy  Land,  he  put 


224  OLD  ENGLAND. 

the  charge  of  his  realm  in  the  hands  of  the  Bishop 
of  Durham,  where  it  was  probably  before.  As  1 
entered  the  Cathedral,  one  of  the  week-day  morn- 
ing services  was  progressing.  According  to  my 
impression,  as  I  have  before  hinted,  the  finest 
church  music  in  Europe  is  to  be  heard  in  the  Eng- 
lish Cathedral  service.  The  music  at  St.  Peter's, 
or  in  Catholic  churches,  does  not  equal  it  for  purity, 
fervor,  and  the  exquisite  beauty  of  the  chorals  of 
boys'  voices.  Whether  this  constant  repetition  of 
the  Prayer-book,  week  in  and  week  out,  before  a 
few  ladies,  children,  and  amateurs  of  music,  bene- 
fits the  common  people,  and  raises  the  standard  of 
religion  and  benevolence,  is  another  question.  The 
manner  in  which  the  prayers  are  raced  through, 
and  the  processions  hurried  in  and  out,  and  the 
vestments  slipped  on  and  off,  shows  that  it  becomes 
wearisome  to  the  most  devout. 

The  pillars  of  the  nave  are  massive,  and  orna- 
mented with  circular  and  zigzag  lines,  after  the 
most  fantastic  description  of  the  Norman  architect- 
ure ;  and  the  church  itself  is  Norman.  It  dates 
from  the  end  of  the  11th  century.  Its  great  fault 
is  the  lowness  of  the  nave ;  but  it  has  some  sinmi- 
lar  architectural  peculiarities  and  beauties.  Among 
these  is  what  is  called  the  "  Galilee,"  on  the  west 
end  overhanging  the  river.  It  is  a  structure  that 
mingles  the  Norman  and  Early  English  styles,  witfc 
ponderous  chevron  mouldings  and  arches  resting 
upon  slender  pillars.  It  came  very  near  being 
iwept   away  by  that  classic  barbarian  bigot  cf  the 


TWEEDMOUTH  TO  HAWORTE.  225 

last  century,  Mr.  Wyatt,  who  wanted  to  make  a 
carriage-drive  around  this  end  of  the  church.  Here 
is  the  monument  of  the  "  venerable  Bede,"  in 
which  all  of  his  bones  that  were  not  scattered  as 
relics  through  the  world  were  deposited.  Manu- 
scripts in  his  handwriting  are  to  be  seen  in  the  li- 
brary. It  is  told  of  him  in  the  old  chronicles,  that 
in  his  later  days,  when  he  was  blind,  he  was  led  by 
the  fraud  of  his  guide  to  a  great  heap  of  stones,  and 
was  told  that  a  large  assembly  of  men  and  women 
were  awaiting  him  to  hear  him  preach  the  word  of 
God.  He,  thinking  it  to  be  true,  commenced  a 
homily,  and  when  he  came  to  the  end,  the  stones 
by  divine  power,  like  a  great  multitude  of  people, 
said  "  Amen,"  or,  as  the  Latin  version  is,  "  Deo 
gracias."  It  were  better  to  make  the  stones  cry  out 
by  preaching  like  living  men,  than  to  petrify  living 
men  into  stones  !  Let  then  the  preacher  have  the 
venerable  Bede  in  mind,  and  resolve,  by  God's 
help,  to  make  men's  stony  hearts  say  to  his  words, 
"Amen." 

But  the  peculiar  genius  of  this  cathedral  was  St. 
Cuthbert,  whose  shrine  did  an  immense  •'  sheep 
shearing"  business  in  the  early  centuries ;  especially 
fcs  the  Saint  was  reported  to  lie  in  an  incorruptible 
Btate,  "  entire,  flexible,  and  succulent."  In  1827 
the  coffin  of  St.  Cuthber4.  was  opened  and  the  tricks 
of  the  monks  exposed.  Balls  were  found  in  the 
;yes,  gold  wire  for  the  hair,  and  swathings  over  the 
oones. 

On  the  outside  of  the  northern  door  is  a  great 
15 


226  OLD   ENGLAND. 

grotesque  brass  head  with  staring  hollow  eyes  and 
a  ring  in  its  mouth,  and  it  is  said  that  in  the  olden 
time,  whenever  a  criminal  fleeing  from  justice 
could  seize  upon  this  ring  he  was  safe.  The  floor 
beneath  the  western  tower  was  sanctuary  ground. 
This  is  the  account  given  in  a  work  on  the  antiqui- 
ties of  the  church.  "  The  culprit  upon  knocking 
at  the  rin<r  affixed  to  the  north  door  was  admitted 

O 

without  delay,  and  after  confessing  his  crime,  with 
every  minute  circumstance  connected  with  it,  the 
whole  of  which  was  committed  to  writing  in  the 
presence  of  witnesses,  a  bell  on  the  Galilee  tower 
ringing  all  the  while  to  give  notice  to  the  town  that 

©        ©  © 

some  one  had  taken  refuge  in  the  church,  there 
was  put  upon  him  a  black  gown  with  a  yellow  cross 
upon  its  left  shoulder,  as  the  badge  of  St.  Cuthbert, 
whose  girth  or  peace  he  had  claimed.  When 
thirty-seven  days  had  elapsed,  if  no  pardon  could 
be  obtained,  the  malefactor,  after  certain  ceremo- 
nies before  the  shrine,  solemnly  abjured  his  native 
land  forever,  and  was  straightway,  by  the  agency 
of  the  intervening  parish  constables,  conveyed  to 
the  coast,  bearing  in  his  hand  a  white  wooden  cross, 
and  was  sent  out  of  the  kingdom  by  the  first  ship 
which  sailed  after  his  arrival."  There  was  a  time 
when  rough  free  England  was  absolutely  ruled  by 
the  Church.  The  Church's  temporal  as  well  as 
spiritual  power  was  above  that  of  king  or  civi] 
judge,  even  as  claimed  in  the  bull  of  Pope  Urban 
<tnd  this  lasted  till  Henry  VIII.  demolished  it,  and 
proclaimed  himself  head  of  the  English  Church, 
\lie  one  being  about  as  just  a  claim  as  the  other. 


TWEEDMOUTH   TO   HAWORTII.  227 

The  Bishopric  of  Durham  is  still  -worth  some- 
ihing.  The  recent  Bishop  is  reported  to  have  left 
a  property  of  $1,000,000. 

Durham  Castle,  now  turned  into  a  peaceful  theo- 
logical seminary,  contains  nothing  remarkable. 

Yorkshire  is  the  Empire  State  of  England.  In 
Bize,  agricultural  richness,  manufactures,  popula- 
tion, noble  estates,  rural  beauty,  and  historical  an- 
tiquities, it  is  the  queen  of  English  counties.  It  is 
more  than  six  hundred  square  miles  larger  than 
Lincolnshire  and  Devonshire  combined,  which  are 
the  next  largest  counties.  One  section  of  it  alone, 
West  Riding,  contains  about  a  million  and  a  half 
of  people,  one  twelfth  of  the  population  of  Eng- 
land. Yorkshiremen  are  tall  and  well-fed.  They 
love  horses,  drive  keen  bargains,  and  are  more  like 
"  Sam  Slick's  "  Yankees,  even  in  their  dialect,  than 
these  are  to  their  originals.  If  the  ample  kitchen 
fire-place  and  the  old  hearty  English  manners  in 
hall  and  cottage  remain  anywhere  unchanged  in 
this  "  fast "  age,  they  may  be  found  in  Yorkshire. 

From  Durham  to  York  it  is  sixty-seven  miles. 
The  number  of  gentlemen's  residences  and  noble- 
men's parks  in  this  part  of  England  is  incredible. 
One  naturally  asks  where  is  there  any  land  to  be 
i.btained  by  smaller  proprietors  and  farmers  ?  One 
cannot  wonder  that  the  word  "  locate,"  as  "  to 
ocate  a  lot  of  land,"  should  be  considered  an 
Americanism,  there  being  no  such  unappropriated 
bit  of  earth  left  in  England.  But  the  wealth  of 
«uch  great  landowners  flows  over  their  land,  ana 


228  OLD  ENGLAND. 

makes  it  indescribably  green,  smooth,  and  beautiful. 
How  different  now  the  scene  from  that  described 
by  an  old  historian,  giving  an  account  of  the  effects 
of  William  the  Conqueror's  rage  against  the  rebel- 
lious, or  rather,  as  was  really  the  case,  patriotic 
Saxons.  "  He  wasted  the  land  between  York  and 
Durham,  so  that  for  three  score  miles  there  was  left 
in  manner  no  habitation  for  the  people,  by  reason 
whereof  it  laid  waste  and  desert  for  nine  or  ten 
yeares.  The  goodlie  cities,  with  the  towers  and 
steeples  set  up  on  a  statelie  height,  and  reaching  as 
it  were  into  the  air  ;  the  beautiful  fields  and  past- 
ures watered  with  the  course  of  sweet  and  pleasant 
rivers  ;  if  a  stranger  should  then  have  beheld,  and 
also  knowne  what  they  were  before,  he  would  have 
lamented."  No  wonder  the  stern  warrior  gasped 
out  on  his  death-bed :  "  Laden  with  many  and 
grievous  sins,  O  Christ,  I  tremble ;  and  being 
ready  to  be  taken  by  Thy  will  into  the  terrible 
presence  of  God,  I  am  ignorant  what  I  should  do, 
for  I  have  been  brought  up  in  feats  of  arms  even 
from  a  child.  I  am  greatly  polluted  with  the  effect 
of  much  blood.  A  royal  diadem  that  never  any 
of  my  predecessors  did  bear  I  have  gotten  ;  and 
although  manly  greediness  on  my  triumph  doth 
rejoice,  yet  inwardly  a  careful  fear  pricketh  and 
biteth  me  when  I  consider  that  in  all  these  cruel 
rashness  hath  raged." 

York,  where  one  Roman  Emperor  was  born  ana 
another  buried,  has  sunk  from  an  imperial  city  nex* 
vo  London,  to  a  place  of  third  or  fourth  rate  impor- 


TWEEDMOUTH   TO   HAWORTH.  229 

tance.  It  mixes  drugs  and  blows  glass  bubbles 
■where  it  once  ruled  a  kingdom.  In  the  civil  wars 
of  the  Roses,  and  in  the  conflicts  of  the  times  of 
Charles  I.,  it  was  proudly  eminent.  But  the 
youngest  reader  need  not  be  told  that  York  Min- 
ster is  the  grandest  building  in  Great  Britain, 
and  among  the  finest  in  the  world.  From  the  top 
of  its  central  tower  one  can  see  thirty  miles.  Its 
west  front  is  a  most  splendid  instance  of  the  Deco- 
rated style,  and  as  "  La  Sainte  Chapelle  "  is  the 
"  rose  "  of  France,  so  its  little  chapter-house  is  the 
"  rose  "  of  England.  Its  seven  great  windows, 
and  especially  what  are  called  "  The  Five  Sisters 
of  York  "  with  painted  glass  of  the  loth  century, 
glow  as  if  studded  with  gems.  Charlotte  Bronte 
often  looked  on  these  jewelled  windows,  and  walked 
under  these  arches,  and  heard  this  great  organ. 

From  York  I  went  to  the  famous  English  "  Spaw," 
consisting  of  two  villages  about  a  mile  apart,  called 
"High"  and  "  Low  Harrowgate."  They  are  situ- 
ated in  the  middle  of  the  county,  on  the  highest 
table-land  in  England,  and  are  resorted  to  by 
dyspeptics  and  artists.  Harrowgate  is  the  "  Avon 
Springs  "  of  England.  The  sulphurous  waters  are 
of  considerable  strength  and  efficacy,  and  these 
combined  with  the  pure  air  often  effect  cures  i*; 
cases  well-nigh  desperate.  I  stopped  at  the  "  Gran- 
oy  Hotel "  in  High  Harrowgate,  termed  in  the 
guide-book  "  the  truly  aristocratic  hotel  of  the 
Spa."  It  stands  on  the  edge  of  a  broad  breezy 
ooramon,  over  which  young  ladies  in  flats  are  con- 


230  OLD  ENGLAND. 

tinually  walking  or  impelling  reluctant  donkeys, 
Old  ladies  in  satins,  and  ancient  gentlemen  with 
the  florid  manners  and  costume  of  the  era  of 
George  IV.,  play  everlasting  games  of  whist  in  the 
crimson-curtained  parlor. 

The  walk  between  the  two  villages  is  through 
quiet  fields,  with  now  and  then  an  old-fashioned 
"  stile."  In  the  vicinity  of  Harrowgate  are  some 
of  the  most  picturesque  ruins  in  England,  and 
around  it  like  a  rim  stretch  the  Craven  and  Ham- 
bleton  Hills.  But  the  coal-colored  skies  were 
gloomy  and  showery,  though  in  a  scientific  book 
it  was  stated  that  "  the  amount  of  precipitation  is 
less  than  that  of  the  neighborhood."  The  old 
English  word  for  "  glory  "  was  "  clerenesse,"  and 
we  wonder  not  that  the  clear  shining  of  the  sun  in 
this  region  of  perpetual  mist  should  be  thought 
glorious. 

While  at  Harrowgate  I  made  an  excursion  to 
"  Fountains  Abbey,"  fourteen  miles  distant  by  the 
Ripon  road.  How  one  speeds  along  over  the  smooth 
turnpikes  in  a  stiff  two-wheeled  English  wagon  ! 
We  hardly  yet  know  the  luxury  of  such  riding  in 
America,  excepting  on  a  few  of  our  best  roads  out 
of  the  large  cities.  Twenty  or  thirty  miles  are 
something  of  a  distance  to  drive,  but  it  is  reeled 
off  so  easily,  that  neither  the  driver  nor  the  horses 
seem  to  think  any  thing  of  it.  They  are  fast  drivers 
Vi  England  because  both  the  horses  and  roads  are 
admirable.  At  Ripon  I  strolled  into  the  old  church, 
%nd  saw  the  lugubrious  sight  of  the  charnel-hous» 


TWEEDMOUTII  TO   HAWORTH.  231 

iterally  crammed  with  human  bones,  piled  up  with 
the  nicety  and  geometric  regularity  of  a  ware- 
house. 

It  was  a  pleasant  sight  to  stand  on  the  old  stone 
bridge  over  the  bright  Ure,  and  watch  the  river 
rippling  underneath  as  clear  as  amber,  as  clear  as 
when  St.  Wilfred  drank  it. 

Three  miles  from  Ripon  is  Studley  Royal,  be- 
longing to  Earl  de  Grey,  in  whose  grounds  are  the 
ruins  of  Fountains  Abbey.  It  is  difficult  to  say 
which  is  the  finest,  Fountains,  Bolton,  or  Tintern 
Abbey  ;  perhaps  the  last ;  but  there  is  nothing  in 
the  world  more  lovely  than  one  of  these  English 
Abbeys,  fallen  to  decay  yet  still  tall,  strong,  and 
majestic  in  what  remains  ;  draped  with  vines  and 
ivy,  silent  and  unused,  and  standing  in  the  midst 
of  the  most  luxuriant  Nature. 

Fountains  Abbey  is  indeed  "  a  tale  of  the  times 
of  old."  The  lofty  beautiful  arches,  the  extent  and 
solidity  of  the  whole  gray  pile,  and  the  perfect  re- 
pose of  the  narrow  vale,  completely  shut  in  by 
rocks  and  trees,  and  hushed  to  listen  to  the  mur- 
murs of  its  own  little  brook,  which  seems  to  whis- 
per,— 

"  Men  may  come  and  men  may  go, 
13ut  1  flow  on  forever,"  — 

this  just  meets  that  mood  of  mind  (certainly  not 
the  highest  or  best),  in  which,  wounded  and 
wearied  by  the  world,  one  in  old  times  and  some- 
times in  these  days,  would  gladly  turn  Contem* 
plator,  instead  of  Actor  in  worldly  scenes. 


232  OLD  ENGLAND. 

In  this  dell,  Robin  Hood  had  his  famous  encoun 

ter  with  the  "  curtail  fryer,"  in  which  he  appears 

to  have  had  the  worst  of  it. 

"  From  ten  o'clock  that  very  day, 
Till  four  i'  th'  afternoon ; 
Then  Robin  Hood  came  to  his  knees 
Of  the  fryer  to  beg  a  boone;  " 

and  it  ended  in  this  compromise  :  — 

"  If  thou  wilt  forsake  fair  Fountaine's  dale 
And  Fountaine's  Abbey  free, 
Every  Sunday  throwout  the  yeare 
A  noble  shall  be  thy  fee." 

Standing  a  little  to  the  west  of  the  abbey,  is  the 
oldest  yew-tree  in  England,  with  the  exception 
perhaps  of  the  one  in  Iffley  churchyard.  It  is 
called  the  "Abbot's  Yew."  It  was  known  to  be 
aged  when  the  abbey  was  built,  and  still  so  tough 
and  vigorous  is  it,  that  two  younger  trees  have 
forced  themselves  up  through  the  parent  trunk. 
Sombre  and  stirless  it  stands,  not  revealing  what  it 
has  seen. 

From  Harrowgate  I  drove  over  the  moors  to 
"  Bolton  Priory."  It  is  hardly  fair  to  have  two 
such  abbeys  come  close  together,  but  it  cannot  be 
helped  ;  still  as  I  have  resisted  the  temptation  of  a 
description  in  the  one  case,  so  I  will  in  the  other. 

Bolton  Priory  is  now  the  possession  of  the  Duke 
of  Devonshire.  May  he  have  capacity  to  enjoy  all 
he  possesses  !  To  own  such  a  spot  as  Bolton  Pri 
ory  were  enough  for  one  man.  I  do  not  envy  its 
Dwner,  but  one  almost  thinks  when  he  ;<ees  it,  that 
»e  should  never  desire  to  leave  it  for  a  day.    Here  ii 


TWEEDMOUTH  TO  HAWORTU.  23S 

•very  thing  one  could  wish,  and  trout  and  "  gray 
ling  "  in  the  river.  The  vale  in  which  the  abbey 
Stands  is  itself  a  noble  one.  The  wide,  bright 
meadows,  the  clear  rushing  Wharfe,  and  the  tall 
cliffs  that  hang  over  the  river,  and  grow  narrower 
and  more  broken  at  the  upper  end  of  the  valley  to- 
ward Barden  Fell,  make  it  the  central  spot  in  Eng- 
land for  sweet  native  loveliness.  The  first  instance 
of  Turner's  mountain  drawing,  it  is  said,  was  from 
these  shores  of  the  Wharfe,  which  was  his  favorite 
Yorkshire  river  that  he  never  could  u  revisit  with- 
out tears,  or  speak  of  without  a  faltering  voice." 
The  only  tender  spot  in  his  rude  heart,  the  only 
spring  which  appeared  to  open  into  something  rarer 
and  nobler  in  him,  was  this  exquisite  perception, 
"his  pure  and  delicate  love  of  Beauty,  which  sought 
its  object  not  in  the  strange  or  grand,  but  in  the 
quiet  haunt  and  inmost  shrine  of  Nature. 

Keighly  (pronounced  "  Keatley ")  has  been 
chiefly  made  known  to  us  from  its  proximity  to 
Ha  worth,  Charlotte  Bronte's  home.  When  did 
we  ever  hear  or  think  of  it  before  ?  Yet  it  is  one 
of  those  important  and  swarming  manufacturing 
places  that  make  the  power  and  wealth  of  Eng- 
land ;  and,  as  I  arrived  on  pay-day  afternoon,  the 
streets  were  thronged  with  thousanis  of  factory- 
people,  bearing  the  hard  and  independent  stamp  of 
West  Riding  weavers,  described  so  vigorously  in 
'«  Shirley."  In  the  dull  and  up-hill  ride  of  four 
iiiles  to  Haworth,  shut  in  most  of  the  way  by  hi^h 
•tone  walls,   instead  of  the  usual  green  hedges,  1 


234  OLD  ENGLAND. 

could  not  but  think  of  those  two  feeble  sisters, 
struggling  along  afoot  over  this  dreary  road,  in  the 
thunder-storm,  on  their  way  to  Keighly  to  take  the 
London  train,  for  the  purpose  of  proving  to  their 
publisher  their  actual  and  separate  identity.  We 
passed  several  great  stone  mills  that  might  have 
been  very  well  used  for  fortresses. 

Haworth  was  pointed  out  with  its  gray  tower, 
near  the  summit  of  a  very  high  hill,  and  at  its  back 
swept  away  north  the  rolling,  dismal  moorlands, 
without  the  sign  of  a  human  habitation.  A  month 
later,  and  these  moors  would  be  gorgeous  with 
heather-blossoms. 

After  passing  a  few  straggling  houses,  we  began 
to  ascend  that  long,  steep,  paved  street  of  Haworth, 
now  become  so  well  known.  What  a  straining, 
scrambling  pull  of  it !  At  the  top  was  the  "  Black 
Bull  Inn."  Its  little  parlor  was  well  enough,  but 
its  sleeping  apartments  were  frowsy  and  dirty,  for 
probably  few  people  '  overnight '  there,  as  the  Ger- 
mans say. 

Just  at  the  left  of  the  inn,  within  a  step  or  so, 
through  a  tall  iron  gate,  was  the  populous  cemetery 
of  the  church. 

The  church  itself  is  a  plain  stone  building,  less 
interesting,  architecturally,  than  English  village 
churches  usually  are.  The  tower  is  evidently  of 
very  ancient  date,  with  a  modern  body  pinned  upoi. 
t.  All  was  hard,  weather-worn  stone,  with  noth* 
mg  green  or  smiling  ;  there  was  not  a  tuft  of  grasi 
%bout  the  churchyard. 


TWEEDMOUTH  TO  HAWORTH.  235 

I  could  not  help  glancing  at  the  "  Parsonage," 
tooking  over  the  edge  of  the  tabled  graveyard  ; 
but  I  hastened  into  the  church,  and  was  seated  in 
the  Squire's  pew  near  the  pulpit,  hung  with  faded 
green  baize. 

For  an  English  village  choir's  artistic  perform- 
ances, I  refer  my  readers  to  the  "  Sketch-Book." 

Mr.  Nicholls  preached  from  John  v.  1.  He  is  a 
dark-complexioned  man,  rather  thin,  with  black 
hair  and  beard.  It  was  a  short,  practical  sermon, 
and  the  tones  of  his  voice,  especially  in  the  service, 
were  grave  and  pleasant,  and,  as  I  conceived,  with 
a  touch  of  sadness.  The  plaintive  "  litany  "  seemed 
never  more  appropriate.  It  was  a  gusty  day  of 
rain  and  shine,  but  its  general  complexion  was  mel- 
ancholy. 

The  old  pews  within  were  so  dull  and  brown,  the 
old  tombs  outside  were  so  still  and  sad,  and  the 
roar  and  dashing  of  the  storm  at  times  was  so  dis- 
mal,  that  the  sins,  conflicts,  and  sorrows  of  life 
would  have  been  the  sermon  preached  to  one's 
heart,  had  the  preacher  charmed  never  so  sweetly. 

I  saw  the  pew,  and  the  corner  of  it,  where  Char- 
lotte used  to  sit ;  and  the  new  white  marble  tablet 
on  the  wall,  erected  to  her  memory,  and  that  of  her 
mother,  four  sisters,  and  brother.  Its  Scriptural 
motto  was  from  1  Cor,  xv.  50,  57.  The  victory 
was  soon  gained  after  all,  for  the  authoress  of 
*'  Jane  Eyre  '  and  "  Shirley  "  was  only  thirty- 
nine  when  she  died.  I  was  also  shown  the  register 
vf  her  marriage,  and  her  autograph  in  the  church 


236  OLD  ENGLAND. 

records.  And  here  she  was  married,  and  her 
Btern  old  father  was  not  even  present  to  give  her 
away. 

Without  intending  or  seeking  it,  I  was  invited, 
as  a  stranger,  to  call  upon  Mr.  Bronte,  for  a  few 
moments  during  the  intermission. 

I  went  through  a  high-walled  yard  at  the  back 
of  the  house,  around  to  the  front,  through  a  small 
flower-garden,  (rather  run  to  waste  now,)  and  was 
shown  by  "  Martha  "  into  Mr.  Bronte's  study. 

I  do  not  think  it  would  be  violating  good  taste  to 
speak  of  an  interview  so  simple,  and  that  had  noth- 
ing confidential  in  its  character. 

Mr.  Bronte  met  me  with  real  kindness  of  man- 
ner, but  with  something  of  the  stateliness    of  the 
old    school.     His   hair,  worn   short,  was   white   as 
driven  snow  ;  his  ample  cambric  cravat  completely 
covered  his  chin  ;  and  his  black  dress  was  of  the 
most    scrupulous    neatness.      He  has  been   called 
handsome,  but  that  he  never  could  have  been.     He 
lad  strong,  rugged,  even  harsh  features,  with  a  high, 
wrinkled  forehead,  and  swarthy  complexion  ;    and 
his  eyes  were  partially  closed,  for  he  was  almost  blind. 
He  said  he  was  induced  to  invite  me  to  his  house, 
though   he   saw   very   little   company,  because   he 
loarned  I  was  an  American,  and  he  thought  much 
of  America. 

Our  conversation  was  chiefly  upon  religious  top- 
ics, and  he  wished  to  be  informed  about  the  grea* 
spiritual  movements  which  from  time  to  time  pass 
pver    America.      He    thought    that    revivals    ii 


TWEEDMOUTH  TO  HAWORTII.  237 

England  and  Ireland  were  accompanied  by  too 
much  animal  excitement ;  yet  he  believed  in 
their  reality.  He  spoke  of  Roman  Catholicism, 
and  said  that  he  had  seen  enough  of  it,  as  he  was 
an  Irishman.  He  thought  we  ought  to  guard 
against  its  machinations  on  the  other  side  of  the 
water.  Roman  Catholics  could  not  be  consistent 
Republicans  ;  and  we  must  not  trust  too  carelessly 
to  the  principle  that  Truth  would  prevail  in  an 
open  field.  The  Catholics  made  much  of  that,  and 
took  advantage  of  it.  He  spoke  of  education  in 
England  —  that  it  was  all  the  fashion  just  now  ; 
but  I  could  not  help  thinking  that  the  conservative, 
granite-minded  old  "  Helstone  "  looked  upon  a 
great  deal  of  it  as  sentimental  and  superficial.  He 
struck  me  as  being  naturally  a  very  social  man, 
with  a  mind  fond  of  discussion,  and  feeding  eagerly 
on  new  ideas,  in  spite  of  his  reserve.  My  call  was 
necessarily  quite  a  short  one.  I  then  went  into 
the  opposite  parlor,  where  his  daughters  used  to  sit 
and  write.  There  was  Charlotte's  portrait,  with 
those  large  dark  eyes,  square  impending  brow,  and 
sad,  unsmiling  mouth.  Branwell  Bronte's  medal- 
lion likeness  hung  opposite  ;  and  Thackeray's  por- 
trait, "  looking  past  her,"  as  she  said,  was  on  the 
front  wall.  Her  books  still  lay  on  the  table.  There 
was  a  Bible  of  Emily's,  and  a  much-worn  copy  of 
Mrs.  Gaskell's  "  Mary  Barton,"  presented  by  the 
tuthoress  to  Mrs.  Nicholls.  This  room  had  rather 
a  pleasant  look  ;  but  its  furnisning  was  simple  to 
severity,  and  its  only  ornament  was  a  little  bunch 


238  OLD  ENGLAND. 

of  broom-grass  on  the  table.  Martha  then  showed 
me  into  the  kitchen  for  a  moment.  This  had  been 
Tabby's  kingdom.  Every  thing  was  exquisitely 
neat,  and  the  copper  pans  shone  like  gold.  It  was 
a  snug,  warm,  crooning  place  ;  and  it  was  not  diffi- 
cult  to  see  the  pleture,  on  a  dark  winter  eve,  when 
the  storms  howled  over  the  moor  and  rattled 
against  the  windows,  of  those  bright-fancied  chil- 
dren  crouching  together  around  the  fire,  telling  their 
strange  stories,  and  living  in  a  world  created  by 
themselves.  Here  Emily  Bronte  studied  German, 
with  her  book  propped  up  before  her,  while  she 
kneaded  dough.  Now  all  are  gone ;  and  the  old 
father,  shutting  up  many  things  in  his  own  impen- 
etrable mind,  was  still  living  on  alone,  thinking 
more  perhaps  of  meeting  his  children  again  in  a 
sinless  and  sorrowless  world,  than  of  all  their  fame 
in  this. 

In  the  afternoon  I  heard  Mr.  Bronte  preach 
from  Job  iii.  17  :  "  There  the  wicked  cease  from 
troubling  ;  and  there  the  weary  be  at  rest."  It 
was  the  simple  extemporaneous  talk  of  an  aged 
pastor  to  his  people,  spoken  without  effort,  in  short, 
easy  sentences,  —  and  was  drawn,  it  appeared  to 
me,  rigid  out  of  that  old  graveyard,  among  whose 
stones  his  feet  had  walked,  and  his  imagination  had 
lived  so  long.  In  parts  it  was  pathetic,  especially 
where  he  alluded  to  the  loss  of  children.  He 
branched  off  upon  the  sorrows,  convulsions,  and 
troubles  then  in  the  world,  and  he  seemed  to  long 
for  wings  like  a  dove  to  fly  away  from  this  change* 


TWEEDMOUTH  TO  HAWOBTH.  239 

ful  scene,  and  be  at  rest.  The  old  church  clock, 
as  if  echoing  the  venerable  preacher's  remarks,  had 
written  upon  it,  "  Time  how  short  —  eternity  how 
long  !  " 

On  the  whole,  my  Haworth  visit  was  a  serious 
and  sobering  one.  I  thought  of  what  Charlotte 
Bronte  said,  that  "  it  always  made  her  unhappy  to 
go  away  from  Haworth,  for  it  took  her  so  long  to 
become  happy  after  she  got  home."  Yet  that 
stone  house  a  century  old,  those  bleak  moors,  that 
very  melancholy  crowded  graveyard,  may  have 
done  something  to  make  Charlotte  Bronte  what 
she  was.  They  fenced  her  in,  and  made  her  in- 
ventive. Her  fiery  Irish  imagination  was  concen- 
trated here  into  a  vital  energetic  current,  that  did 
not  waste  itself  in  endless  poetic  mazy  streams,  but 
cut  for  itself  a  deep,  practical,  and  creative  channel. 
As  a  pearl-oyster  will,  after  a  time,  coat  a  gravel- 
stone  introduced  into  it  with  its  own  rich  and  pure 
enamel,  so  the  few  rough  and  homely  objects  that 
her  mind  was  familiar  with,  became  clad  with  the 
ustrous  and  glorious  beauty  of  her  own  thought 
and  imagination.  The  less  she  saw,  the  more  ac- 
curately  she  drew,  and  the  more  profoundly  she 
analyzed.  Her  bodily  eye  grew  microscopic,  but 
her  spiritual  vision  was  enlarged,  and  saw  into  the 
elements  of  things,  and  the  hidden  springs  of  ac- 
tion. Hence  a  shy,  secluded  little  woman  de- 
scribes Nature  as  if  she  had  always  been  accus- 
tomed to  live  in  the  midst  of  the  most  lovely  and 
jpulent  scenery,  and  moves  our  mind  with  some- 


210  OLD  ENGLAND. 

thing  of  the  mighty  power  of  Shakspeare,  when 
she  lays  bare  the  abysses  and  spiritual  forces  of 
moral  character.  Even  in  her  most  vivid  and 
realistic  writings  there  is  this  intense  subjective- 
ness. 

The  best  criticism  ever  made  upon  her  novels,  it 
seems  to  me,  is  this  —  that  her  characters  do  not 
converse  like  human  beings,  but  that  their  conver- 
sation is  in  fact  their  thovghts ;  it  is  thinking 
aloud. 

I  afterward  saw  Madame  Heger's  school  in 
Brussels,  where  Charlotte  and  her  sister  resided  for 
a  time.  Even  that  seemed  to  be  a  dull,  shut-in 
spot,  as  it  were  down  in  a  pit.  Intellectually 
Bpeaking,  she  was  a  vine  always  to  be  kept  pruned 
close  by  the  husbandman,  that  she  might  bring 
forth  more  fruit. 


CHAPTER   XTV. 

HOME    OF   THE    PILGRIMS. 

Twelve  miles  to  the  south  of  Doncaster,  on  the 
great  Northern  line  of  railway,  and  just  at  the 
junction  of  Yorkshire,  Nottinghamshire,  and  Lin- 
colnshire, in  the  county  of  Nottingham,  but  border- 
ing upon  the  fenny  districts  of  Lincolnshire,  whose 
monotonous  scenery  reminds  one  of  Holland,  lies 
the  village  of  Scrooby.  Surely  it  is  of  more  in- 
terest to  us  than  all  the  Pictish  forts  and  Roman 
walls  that  the  "  Laird  of  Monkbarns  "  ever  dreamed 
of.  I  was  dropped  out  of  the  rail  carriage,  which 
hardly  stopped,  upon  a  wide  plain  at  a  miniature 
Btation-house,  with  some  suspicions  of  a  church  and 
small  village  across  the  flat  rushy  fields  in  the  dis- 
tance. This  was  indeed  the  humble  village  (though 
now  beginning  to  be  better  known)  which  I  had 
been  searching  for  ;  and  which  nobody  of  whom  I 
mquired  in  Doncaster,  or  on  the  line  of  the  railway 
seemed  to  know  any  thing  about,  or  even  that  such 
a  place  existed.  I  made  its  discovery  by  the  help 
of  a  good  map.  The  station-master  said  that  he 
tame  to  Scrooby  in  1851,  and  then  it  numbered 
three    hundred    inhabitants ;    and  since    that    time 

there  had  been  but  twelve  deaths. 
16 


242  OLD  ENGLAND. 

My  search  for  the  manor-house  where  Bicwstef 
and  Bradford  established  the  first  church  of  the 
Pilgrims,  was,  for  a  time,  entirely  fruitless.  I  in- 
quired of  a  genuine  "  Hodge "  working  in  the 
iields ;  but  his  round  red  face  showed  no  glimmer 
of  light  on  a  matter  so  far  removed  fiom  beans 
and  barley.  I  next  encountered  a  good  Wesleyan 
minister,  trudging  his  morning  circuit  of  pastora. 
visitation,  but  could  gain  nothing  from  him,  though 
a  chatty,  communicative  man.  At  the  venerable 
stone  church  of  Scrooby,  very  rude  and  plain  in 
architecture,  but  by  no  means  devoid  of  picturesque- 
ness,  I  was  equally  unsuccessful.  The  verger  of 
the  church,  who  is  generally  the  learned  man  of  the 
village,  was  absent ;  and  his  daughter  knew  nothing 
outside  the  church  and  churchyard. 

I  strolled  along  the  grassy  country  road  that  ran 
through  the  place  till  I  met  a  white-haired  old 
countryman,  who  proved  to  be  the  most  intelligent 
soul  in  the  neighborhood.  He  put  his  cane  to  his 
chin,  shut  and  opened  his  eyes,  and  at  last  told  me 
in  broad  Yorkshire,  that  he  thought  the  place  I  was 
looking  for  must  be  what  they  called  "  the  bishop's 
house,"  where  Squire  Dickinson  lived.  Set  at  last 
upon  the  right  track,  I  walked  across  two  swampy 
meadows  that  bordered  the  Idle  River,  —  perti- 
nently named  —  till  I  came  to  a  solitary  farm- 
house with  a  red-tiled  roof.  Some  five  or  six 
Blender  poplar-trees  stood  at  the  back  of  it,  and  a 
ditch  of  water  at  one  end,  where  there  had  beer 
evidently  an  ancient  moat  —  "a  moated  grange." 


HOME  OF  THE  PILGRIMS.  243 

It  was  a  desolate  spot,  and  was  rendered  more  so 
just  then  by  the  coming  up  of  a  thunder-storm, 
whose  "  avant  courier,"  the  wind,  made  the  slender 
poplars  and  osiers  bend  and  twist.  Squire  John 
Dickinson,  the  present  inhabitant  of  the  house, 
which  is  owned  by  Richard  Monckton  Milnes,  the 
poet,  gave  me  a  hearty  farmer's  welcome.  I  think 
he  said  there  had  been  one  other  American  there 
before ;  at  any  rate  he  had  an  inkling  that  he  was 
squatted  on  soil  of  some  peculiar  interest  to  Amer- 
icans. He  introduced  me  to  his  wife  and  daughters, 
healthy  and  rosy-cheeked  English  women,  and  made 
me  sit  down  to  a  hospitable  luncheon.  He  enter- 
tained me  with  a  discourse  upon  the  great  amount 
of  hard  work  to  be  done  in  farming  among  these 
bogs,  and  wished  he  had  never  undertaken  it,  but 
had  gone  to  America  or  Australia.  The  house  he 
said  was  rickety  enough,  but  he  contrived  to  make 
it  do.  It  was,  he  thought,  principally  made  of 
what  was  once  a  part  of  the  stable  of  the  Manor 
House.  The  palace  itself  has  now  entirely  dis- 
appeared ;  "  but,"  said  my  host,  "  dig  anywhere 
around  here  and  you  will  find  the  ruins  of  the 
old  palace."  Dickinson  said  that  he  himself  was 
reared  in  Austerfield,  a  few  miles  off  in  Yorkshire  ; 
and  that  a  branch  of  the  Bradford  family  still  lived 
there.  After  luncheon  I  was  shown  Cardinal 
Wolsey's  mulberry-tree,  or  what  remained  of  it ; 
und  in  one  of  the  barns,  some  elaborately  carved 
wood-work  and  ornamental  beams,  covered  with 
lirt  and  cobwebs,  were  pointed  out,  which  undoubt- 
edly belonged  to  the  archiepiscopal  palace. 


244  OLD  ENGLAND. 

This  was  all  that  remained  of  the  house  where 
Elder  Brewster  once  lived,  and  gathered  his  hum- 
ble friends  about  him,  in  a  simple  foi*m  of  worship. 
Bradford,  in  his  "  Life  of  Brewster,"  says  :  "  They 
ordinarily  met  at  his  house  on  the  Lord's  day,  which 
was  a  manor  of  the  Bishop's,  and  with  great  love 
he  entertained  them  when  they  came,  making  pro- 
vision for  them  to  his  great  charge,  and  continued 
so  to  do  whilst  they  could  stay  in  England."  And 
Leland,  in  1541,  says  :  "  In  the  meane  townlet  of 
Scrooby  I  marked  two  things,  the  parish  church  not 
big  but  very  well  builded,  the  second  was  a  great 
manor  place,  standing  with  a  moat  and  longing  to 
the  Archbishop  of  York  ;  builded  in  two  courts, 
whereof  the  first  is  very  ample,  and  all  builded  of 
timber  saving  the  front  of  the  house,  that  is  of 
brick,  to  the  which  ascenditur  per  gradus  lapideos." 
This  manor  was  assigned  to  the  Archbishop  of 
York  in  the  "  Doomsday  Book."  Cardinal  Wolsey, 
when  he  held  that  office,  passed  some  time  at  this 
palace.  While  he  lived  there,  Henry  VIII.  slept 
a  night  in  the  house.  It  came  into  Archbishop 
Sandys's  hands  in  1576.  He  gave  it  by  lease  to  his 
son,  Samuel  Sandys,  under  whom  Brewster  held 
the  manor.  Brewster,  as  is  now  well  known,  was 
the  Post-Superintendent  of  Scrooby,  an  important 
position  in  those  days,  lying  as  the  village  did,  and 
does  now,  upon  the  great  northern  line  of  travel 
from  London  to  Yorkshire,  Northumberland,  and 
Scotland. 

A  Cambridge  scholar,  and   clerk   of  Secretary 


HOME  OF  THE  PILGRIMS.  245 

Davison,  Brewster  had  seen  much  of  courts  and 
mingled  in  public  scenes.  While  engaged  upon  an 
important  embassy  to  Holland,  he  had  undoubtedly 
often  met  and  conversed  with  that  remarkable  and 
far-sighted  man,  William  the  Silent.  Bradford,  a 
man  of  good  family  in  the  neighboring  town  of 
Austerfield,  became  interested  in  Brewster's  relig- 
ious views  when  but  eighteen  years  of  age,  and  at 
once  joined  Brewster's  little  company  of  independ- 
ent worshipers,  who  were  composed  chiefly  of  Lin- 
colnshire farmers  and  ditchers  ;  and  here  on  even* 
Lord's  day  they  met  to  worship  until  they  left  in  a 
body  for  Holland.  As  the  judicial  books  of  the 
neighborhood  still  show,  many  members  of  this 
congregation  refused  to  obey,  at  the  cost  of  fine 
and  imprisonment,  the  oppressive  ecclesiastical  laws 
of  Elizabeth  and  James  I.,  and  of  a  somewhat  later 
time.  They  were  evidently  no  fanatics.  The 
three  simple  points  upon  which  Brewster  and  his 
co-religionists  founded  their  right  of  separation  from 
the  Established  Church  at  that  time  were  these : 

1.  The  determination  not  to  support  and  attend 
upon  many  prescribed  ecclesiastical  forms,  not  per- 
haps wicked  in  themselves,  but  inwoven  with  ordi- 
nances and   opinions  that   they  esteemed   Popish. 

2.  The  claim  to  the  right  of  individual  interpreta- 
tion of  the  Scriptures.  3.  The  assertion  of  the 
right  to  exclude  immoral  persons  from  their  church 
•ommunion.  These  points  of  difference  compelled 
ihem  to  be  separatists,  not  only  driving  them  to  a 
leparation  from  the  Church  of  England    '"»ut  frorc 


246  OLD  ENGLAND. 

their  native  soil,  and  finally  compelled  tliem  to 
become  "  strangers  and  pilgrims  "  on  a  totally  nev? 
and  foreign  shore.  The  calm  and  enlightened 
character  of  Brewster  himself  forbids  us  supposing 
that  he  would  have  undertaken  any  thing  unrea- 
sonable, wild,  or  visionary.  He  and  his  coadjutors 
were  not  disorderly  persons,  and  did  not  go  law- 
lessly to  work.  They  constituted  themselves  into 
a  church,  "  to  walk  in  all  his  ways  made  known 
or  to  be  made  known  unto  them,  according  to 
their  best  endeavors,  whatever  it  should  cost  them." 
These  last  were  no  empty  words,  spoken  as  they 
were  in  times  of  persecution,  when  the  government 
of  the  land,  stimulated  by  the  State  Church,  was 
sternly  determined  to  crush  out  the  life  of  dissent 
from  the  kingdom.  The  church  thus  established 
was  the  model  of  all  our  New  England  churches  to 
this  day,  and  was  organized  it  is  supposed  about 
the  year  1602.  In  1606  Brewster  was  chosen  an 
elder,  and  'Clifton  the  pastor.  John  Robinson  of 
Newark,  Norwich  County,  then  makes  his  appear- 
ance as  teacher  and  preacher  of  this  humble 
church.  This  little  church  finally  effected  its  re- 
moval with  much  difficulty,  loss,  and  peril,  during 
the  pastorate  of  Richard  Clifton,  as  one  religious 
body,  to  Holland.  They  went  first  to  Amster- 
dam ;  and  afterward  a  portion  drew  off  with  John 
Robinson  and  settled  in  Leyden ;  and  it  was 
this  portion  of  the  Scrooby  and  Brewster,  Leyden 
find  Robinson  church,  which  formed  the  integra, 
oart  of  the  one  hundred   souls  who   returned    to 


HOME  OF  THE  PILGRIMS.  247 

England  m  the  Speedivell,  and  who  Anally  em- 
barked in  the  Mayflower  from  Plymouth.  The 
remainder  of  the  people,  and  many  other  English 
refugees  for  conscience'  sake,  crossed  over  soon 
after  by  other  vessels  to  America.  But  these  were, 
by  eminence,  the  "Pilgrim  Fathers;"  the  separa- 
tists from  the  non-conformists  ;  the  purest  siftings 
of  the  wheat ;  the  "  Puritans  of  the  Puritans." 
They  were,  it  is  true,  mostly  unknown  Lincoln- 
shire ditchers,  and  plain  Nottinghamshire  farmers, 
with  now  and  then  a  yeoman,  and  a  man  of  family 
and  education.  They  were,  however,  sound,  hon- 
est, thoughtful  Englishmen.  They  were  diligent 
readers  of  the  Bible,  and  were  really  superior  in 
their  moral  convictions,  and  their  spiritual  eleva- 
tion, to  the  rest  of  Englishmen  at  that  time.  As 
Governor  Bradford  wrote  of  them,  "  but  they  knew 
they  were  pilgrims,  and  looked  not  so  much  on 
those  things,  but  lift  up  their  eyes  to  the  heavens, 
their  dearest  country,  and  quieted  their  spirits." 
They  formed  neither  the  highest  nor  the  lowest 
class  in  the  land,  but  that  class  of  independent  agri- 
culturists, of  "  free  socage  tenants,"  who  were  the 
root  of  English  freedom,  and  the  English  civil  con- 
stitution. They  had  besides  a  small  but  pure  leaven 
of  consecrated  learning  in  their  body.  Who,  in- 
deed,  would  ask  but  for  one  such  capacious  mind 
as  that  of  John  Robinson,  whom  God  had  made 
great,  wise,  and  prophetic,  to  be  the  founder  of  a 
free  and  mighty  people  !  *  He  was,"  says  a  con- 
temporary, speaking  of   the   Puritans,   "the  most 


248  OLD  ENGLAND. 

learned,  polished,  and  modest  spirit,  that  ever  that 
sect  enjoyed."  The  great  words  which  he  spake  at 
the  time  of  parting  with  his  flock  at  Delft  Haven 
are  an  inestimable  legacy  to  us  for  all  time :  "  '  We 
are  now  ere  long  to  part  asunder,  and  the  Lord 
knoweth  whether  ever  he  should  live  to  see  our 
faces  again.  But  whether  the  Lord  had  appointed 
it  or  not,  he  charged  us  before  God  and  his  blessed 
angels,  to  follow  him  no  further  than  he  followed 
Christ :  and  if  God  should  reveal  any  thing  to  us 
by  any  other  instrument  of  his,  to  be  as  ready  to 
receive  it  as  ever  we  were  to  receive  any  truth  of 
his  ministry ;  for  he  was  very  confident  the  Lord 
had  more  light  and  truth  yet  to  break  out  of  his 
holy  Word.  He  took  occasion  also  to  bewail  the 
state  and  condition  of  the  reformed  churches,  who 
were  come  to  a  period  in  religion,  and  would  go  no 
further  than  the  instruments  of  their  reformation. 
As  for  example  the  Lutherans,  they  could  not  be 
drawn  to  go  beyond  what  Luther  saw  ;  for  what- 
ever part  of  God's  will  he  had  further  imparted  to 
Calvin,  they  will  rather  die  than  embrace  it.  And 
bo  also,  saith  he,  you  see  the  Calvinists,  they  stick 
where  he  left  them,  a  misery  much  to  be  lamented  • 
for  though  they  were  precious  shining  lights  in 
their  times,  yet  God  had  not  revealed  his  whole 
will  to  them  ;  and  were  they  now  willing,  saith  he, 
they  would  be  as  ready  to  embrace  further  light  as 
that  they  had  received.'  "  While  thus  a  man  of 
far-sighted  penetration  and  progress,  he  was  firm 
upon  the  great  truths  of  our  Christian  faith.     H 


HOME  OF  THE  PILGRIMS.  249 

nad  the  spirit  of  Christ,  and  united  courage  with 
mildness  His  "  New  Essays  on  Things  Moral  and 
Divine  "  contain  passages  which,  for  smoothness  and 
vigor  of  style,  compare  well  with  the  writings  of 
Hooker,  or  Hall,  or  any  of  his  contemporaries. 
"  Faith,"  he  says,  "  as  a  welcome  passenger  must 
be  well  carried  and  convoyed  through  a  sea  of 
temptations,  in  a  vessel  of  good  conscience,  that  it 
suffer  not  shipwreck ;  directed  by  the  chart  of 
God's  Word  and  promises  rightly  understood,  that 
it  run  not  a  wrong  course  ;  and  having  ever  in 
readiness  the  anchor  of  hope  against  a  stress  ;  and 
continually  gathering  into  the  outspread  sails  of  a 
heart  enlarged  by  prayer  and  meditation,  the  sweet 
and  prosperous  gusts  of  God's  Holy  Spirit  to  drive 
it  to  the  desired  haven."  In  the  same  essay  he 
says  :  "  Lastly,  touching  love  ;  as  it  is  the  affection 
of  union,  so  it  makes  after  a  sort  the  loving  and 
loved,  one ;  such  being  the  force  thereof,  as  that  he 
that  loveth  suffereth  a  kind  of  conversion  into  that 
which  he  loveth,  and  by  frequent  meditation  of  it 
uniteth  it  with  his  understanding  and  affection.  O 
how  happy  is  the  man,  who  by  the  sweet  feeling  of 
the  love  of  God  shed  abroad  in  his  heart,  is  there- 
by, as  by  the  most  strong  cords  of  Heaven,  drawn 
with  all  the  heart  to  love  God  who  hath  loved  him, 
and  so  becomes  one  with  him,  and  rests  upon  him 
for  all  good."  These  are  passages  taken  at  ran- 
dom. It  is  strange  tnat  his  writings  are  not  more 
read  by  American  Christians. 

It  is  said  of  Bradford,  a  worthy  disciple  of  Rob- 


250  OLD  ENGLAND. 

mson  in  largeness  of  soul  and  mental  culture,  that 
ne  mastered  the  Latin  and  Greek  and  studied 
Hebrew,  because  "  he  would  see  with  his  own  eyes 
the  ancient  oracles  of  God  in  their  native  beauty." 
Brewster  himself  was  a  man  of  no  mean  acquire- 
ments. His  library,  which  was  the  principal  part 
of  the  estate  he  left,  consisted  of  two  hundred  and 
seventy-five  volumes,  sixty-four  of  them  being  on 
the  learned  languages.  Other  Cambridge  scholars 
followed  them  shortly  after,  among  whom  was  that 
wise  and  gentle  spirit,  John  Cotton,  the  founder  or 
father  of  Boston. 

Such  were  the  men  who  were  gathered  together 
in  that  small  despised  religious  communion,  and 
who  came  to  the  New  World  as  a  united  Christ- 
ian church,  impelled  by  a  purely  spiritual  motive, 
without  any  admixture  —  among  the  original  "  Pil- 
grim Fathers  "  —  of  the  commercial  idea ;  to  plant 
almost  unconsciously,  and  as  the  natural  results  of 
their  religious  views,  the  principles  of  a  free  repub- 
lican state.  Let  us  never  doubt  that  the  pure  im- 
pulse which  bore  them  to  America,  will  preserve 
their  principles  through  all  time  to  come. 

Puritanism  always  goes,  as  Macaulay  has  splen- 
lidly  demonstrated,  before  the  establishment  of  a 
just,  free,  and  Christian  government ;  it  must  ever 
be,  "  first  pure,  then  peaceable." 

I  do  not  believe   that  Puritanism  comprehends 

;r.e  whole  truth  ;    for  Puritanism  is  itself  partial, 

.hough  as  far  as  it  goes  it  is  sound  and  true.     Bui4 

world-church  can  never  be  founded  on  the  prii> 


HOME  OF  THE  PILGRIMS.  251 

tiple  of  separation,  but  only  of  unity  ;  and  it  must 
have  more  than  purity,  it  must  have  faith,  hope, 
and  charity.  Puritanism  makes  a  good  beginning, 
—  the  only  good  beginning  ;  yet  it  must  rise  to  a 
higher,  and  larger,  and  diviner  idea  of  truth,  before 
it  shall  become  the  Church  or  the  State  universal 
But  to  look  at  this  lonely  and  decayed  manor- 
house,  standing  in  the  midst  of  these  flat  and  deso- 
late marshes,  and  at  this  most  obscure  village  of 
the  land,  this  Nazareth  of  England,  slumbering  in 
rustic  ignorance  and  stupid  apathy,  and  to  think 
of  what  has  come  out  of  this  place,  of  what  vast 
influences  and  activities  have  issued  from  this  quiet 
and  almost  listless  scene,  one  has  strange  feelings. 
The  storied  "  Alba  Longa,"  from  which  Rome 
sprang,  is  an  interesting  spot,  but  the  newly  dis- 
covered spiritual  birthplace  of  America  may  excite 
deeper  emotions. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

LINCOLN     TO     ELY. 

I  have  said  that  Lincolnshire  was  Dutch  in  its 

scenery ;  the  resemblance  is  greatly  heightened 
by  the  numberless  windmills,  some  of  them  old 
ragged,  and  picturesque.  Broad  canals  shimmer- 
ing in  the  red  light  of  sunset,  straight  as  a  bee-line, 
and  stretching  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach,  cut 
through  this  flat,  fat,  fenny  soil,  which  has  been 
nearly  all  reclaimed  and  brought  to  a  high  state 
of  kitchen-garden  cultivation,  though  at  vast  cost. 
When  will  the  "  Pontine  Marshes  "  be  as  thorough- 
ly drained,  and  fit  for  something  else  than  the  habi- 
tation of  wild  hogs  and  buffaloes  ?  This  whole  Fen 
district  is  computed  to  comprehend  the  immense 
tract  of  four  hundred  thousand  acres. 

Lincoln  rises  abruptly  from  the  plain.  Its  sum- 
mit is  crowned  by  the  Cathedral,  which  presides 
over  a  vast  extent  of  flat  country ;  and  so  com- 
manding is  its  position  and  its  height,  that  it  can 
be  seen,  it  is  said,  from  Buxton  hills  in  Derby- 
shire. 

It  is  a  tough  walk  in  warm  weather  up  "  Steep- 
hill  Street,"  but  the  Cathedral  amply  repays  the 
jfFort.     It  is  certainly  in  grandeur  next  to  York 


'.J* 


LINCOLN   TO  ELY.  253 

Minster,  of  all  the  English  Cathedrals,  and  as  a 
whole  impressed  me  more.  There  is  more  of 
rugged  strength  and  majesty  in  its  front,  while  the 
east  end  is  incomparable  for  its  elegance  and  flow- 
ing grace.  Its  central  tower  rises  to  the  height 
of  two  hundred  and  sixty-eight  feet.  In  ascending 
the  tower,  I  arrived  at  the  bell-room  just  as  great 
"  Tom  of  Lincoln  "  was  striking.  The  still  air 
was  in  an  instant  racked  with  a  mighty  uproar,  and 
the  solid  tower  trembled  under  every  humming 
thunder-stroke.  The  view  from  the  summit  is  one 
of  the  most  unique  in  England  ;  the  ancient  city  v^ 
clustering  on  the  slopes  of  the  hill,  and  then  a 
level  plain  not  strewn  very  thickly  with  towns  and  .^^ 
villages,  but  rather  like  a  grassy  Hungarian  steppe 
stretching:  far  and  wide  to  the  hills  on  one  side  and 
the  sea  on  the  other.  The  Cathedral  is  built  in  the 
form  of  a  double  cross ;  its  best  parts  belong  to  the 
most  elaborate  and  mature  period  of  the  "  Early 
English  "  or  "  Pointed  "  style.  Within  and  with- 
out it  is  rich  in  carving  of  the  boldest  character. 
One  can  see  in  under  the  leaves.  The  "  Presby* 
tery  "  or  "  Lady  Chapel "  is  full  of  this  exquisite 
carved  work,  and  is  sometimes  called  the  "  Angel 
Choir,"  from  the  figures  of  thirty  angels  in  the 
spandrels  of  the  triforium  arches,  carved  as  if  they 
were  flying  on  high,  and  playing  uoon  every  kind 
of  temple  instrument,  such  as  the  harp,  trumpet, 
cittern,  cymbal.  The  two  great  marigold  windows 
m  the  principal  transept,  eacn  twenty-two  feet  in 
iiameter,  and  filled  with  deep-colored  painted  glass, 


254  OLD  ENGLAND 

give  a  rich  tone  to  this  central  portion  of  the  build- 
ing, supported  upon  its  four  heavy  piers  or  clus- 
tered pillars.  The  fault  of  the  edifice  is  the  com- 
mon fault  of  the  lowness  of  the  nave,  which  gives' 
too  weak  and  steep  a  pitch  to  the  roof.  But  it  is 
absurd  to  criticize  these  Gothic  structures ;  like 
mountains  they  have  no  rules,  and  take  such  forms 
as  they  please ;  they  delight  in  the  strangest  con- 
trasts and  most  violent  irregularities  ;  their  unity 
is  not  in  their  uniformity  of  structure,  but  in  their 
heaven-ascending  aim,  to  which  all  tends.  The 
"  Chapter  House  "  of  the  Cathedral  is  an  entirely 
distinct  appendage  upon  the  northern  side,  in  the 
form  of  a  decagon,  and  is  flanked  by  bold  flying 
buttresses,  as  if  tied  to  the  ground  by  them  like  a 
wide-spreading  tent.  Its  interior,  supported  by  a 
single-reeded  pillar  of  Purbeck  marble,  is  not  un- 
like a  great  military  tent. 

I  was  shut  up  by  accident  for  half  an  hour  in 
this  "  Chapter  House,"  so  that  I  had  more  time  tc 
study  it.  It  abounds  in  those  grotesque  carvings 
that  are  so  suggestive  but  mysterious.  The  small 
queer  faces  on  the  capitals  of  pillars  and  termina- 
tions of  mouldings,  look  down  upon  you  as  if  they 
were  alive  :  sometimes  it  is  the  face  of  a  monk  and 
Bometimes  of  a  nun,  and  the  monk  does  not  always 
look  pious  but  roguish ;  now  it  is  a  beautiful  coun- 
tenance with  wonderful  serenity  and  purity  of  ex 
pression,  then  it  is  a  face  in  torment  with  the 
snouth  horribly  stretched,  and  the  parched  tongue 
oiling  out ;  here  is  a  winged  angel,  and  there  a 


LINCOLN  TO  ELY.  255 

?quat  demon  ;  animal  heads,  beaks,  snouts,  claws, 
images  of  the  sensual  passions  and  bestialities  of 
the  mind,  mix  with  the  symbols  of  purer  and 
higher  things. 

In  going  from  Lincoln  to  Nottingham,  thirty-five 
miles,  we  passed  Newark,  in  whose  castle  King 
John  died,  worn  out  by  his  vices  and  military  mis- 
fortunes. 

The  scenery  of  the  Trent  valley  was  very  pretty 
and  peaceful,  with  the  stacks  of  grain  standing  in 
the  fields,  and  the  cattle  feeding  in  great  numbers 
on  the  smooth  meadows,  or  cooling  themselves  in 
the  stream. 

I  asked  a  farmer  who  sat  by  me,  without  mean- 
ing any  disrespect,  —  "  What  little  stream  is  that  ?  " 
"  Wha,  that 's  the  Trent !  "  he  answered  with  a 
stiff  expression,  as  much  as  to  say,,  "  Your  ques- 
tion, sir,  is  an  insult  to  one  of  the  most  respectable 
rivers  in  the  kingdom." 

The  eastern  side  of  England,  which  is  not  as  a 
general  thing  much  visited  by  American  travelers, 
is  hardly  less  rich  and  beautiful  than  the  western 
Bide,  and  is  equally  strewn  with  historical  monu 
ments.  The  climate,  however,  is  said  to  be  some- 
what less  genial.     It  is  nearer  the  coasts  of  Hoi- 

© 

land,  and  was  once  more  open  to  the  spiritual 
winds  and  influences  of  the  great  German  Ref- 
crmation ;  and  this  last  idea  increases  upon  us  as 
we  approach  Cambridge. 

At  Nottingham  we  are   within   fifteen  miles  of 

© 

Derby,  where  I  was  a  few  weeks  since.     This  is 


256  OLD   ENGLAND. 

the  town  and  county  of  Robin  Hood,  Henry  Kirke 
White,  and  Lord  Byron,  —  an  odd  juxtaposition  of 
names ;  yet  there  can  be  little  doubt  that  the  fact 
of  Robin  Hood's  still  living  and  popular  ballads 
being  known  and  sung  in  Nottingham,  had  its  in- 
fluence to  make  Henry  Kirke  White  a  poet,  and  he 
was  not  without  his  influence  upon  the  mind  of 
young  Byron. 

The  house  where  Henry  Kirke  White  was  born 
is  in  what  is  called  the  "  Old  Shambles."  The 
lower  part  of  it  is  now  used  as  a  butcher's  shop,  as 
it  was,  I  believe,  originally.  There  is  a  staring 
daub  of  a  picture  upon  it  nearly  as  large  as  the 
house,  representing  the  youthful  poet  sitting  among 
shrubs  and  trees.  The  room  where  he  was  born 
forms  part  of  another  larger  room,  which  is  now 
used  as  a  dining-room  for  a  small  tavern.  It  is  a 
low-walled  and  decayed  apartment,  paved  with 
crumbling  cement.  What,  I  was  told,  was  Henry 
Kirke  White's  study,  is  a  closet  three  feet  by  five  ! 
Two  bits  of  red  and  yellow  glass  have  been  stuck 
in  the  little  window  to  give  it  a  shade  more  of  im- 
portance. His  inspiration  was  not  caught  here, 
but  out  under  the  trees  of  Clifton,  and  alono-  the 
peaceful  banks  of  the  Trent.  I  walked  through 
the  Nottingham  market-place,  truly  a  magnificen* 
square,  up  to  the  deserted  terrace  of  the  old  castle, 
upon  which  stand  the  empty,  cracked,  and  tottering 
walls  of  a  palace  that  was  burned  in  a  Chartist 
riot.  '  On  this  rock  many  kings  have  lived ;  greai 
svents  have  revolved  around  it     it  was  the  strong 


LINCOLN  TO  ELY.  257 

hold  of  the  Danes,  when  they  held  the  northeastern 
counties  of  England,  and  here  their  gloomy  "  raven 
banner  "  once  waved.  Nottinghamshire  and  Lan- 
cashire  mark  indeed  the  circle  of  the  main  Danish 
conquests  in  England,  and  they  are  full  of  Danish 
names.  Our  old  friend,  "  Peveril  of  the  Peak," 
had  a  castle,  also  on  this  eminence  ;  Richard  Coeur 
de  Lion,  after  having  crushed  his  brother's  rebel- 
lion, held  his  first  council  here ;  Owen  Glendower 
was  shut  up  here  ;  Richard  III.  made  it  his  favor- 
ite den ;  Charles  I.  proclaimed  the  civil  war  by 
raisins:  a  standard  on  a  turret  of  this  castle,  and 
here  he  was  afterward  confined  as  a  prisoner.  It 
is  truly  a  lordly  rock,  and  commands  a  wide  and 
delightful  prospect.  "  The  silver  Trent "  flows 
through  the  valley  at  its  foot,  and  just  on  the 
other  side  of  the  stream  lies  Henry  Kirke  White's 
favorite  haunt,  the  beautiful  village,  of  Wilford, 
with  lovely  Clifton  Grove.  The  view  from  this 
point  extends  even  to  the  hills  of  Derbyshire. 
Nottingham  stands  on  the  edge  of  the  ancient 
"  Merry  Sherwood  "  Forest,  and  the  royal  marks 
going  back  as  far  as  King  John's  reign,  are  some- 
times found  upon  the  trees  of  this  region  when 
they  are  felled.  There  are  some  parts  of  the  an- 
cient forest  still  left  intact,  whose  sylvan  beauty, 
solitude,  and  majesty,  it  is  said,  would  find  no  better 
description  at  this  day,  than  the  one  which  is  given 
in  tne  opening  chapter  of  Ivanhoe.  On  my  way 
back  I  fell  in  with  an  agreeable  and  chatty  old 
gentleman  who  invited  me  into  his  summer-house, 

17 


258  OLD  ENGLAND. 

and  showed  me  a  chamber  cut  in  the  rock,  where 
the  ancient  archers  concealed  themselves  and  their 
fires  in  the  winter  time.  He  said  he  had  seen 
Lord  Byron,  who  used  to  visit  Nottingham  when 
his  "  Hours  of  Idleness  "  was  being  published  in 
that  town.  He  well  remembered  seeing  him  riding 
on  a  gray  horse,  dressed  in  a  scarlet  hunting-coat 
and  jockey  cap. 

Nottingham  is  a  large  busy  city,  numbering  per 
haps  130,000  inhabitants.  It  has  advanced  lately 
with  great  rapidity,  and  has  immense  factories  of 
cotton-yarn,  stockings,  and  lace.  The  first  cotton- 
mill  in  the  world  was  erected  here  by  Sir  Richard 
Ark  wright. 

I  took  the  cars  for  Hucknall  Torkard,  seven 
miles  to  the  northwest  of  Nottingham.  It  is  a  dull 
dirty  village  ;  and  here,  in  one  of  the  poorest  and  ap- 
parently most  forlorn  of  all  English  rural  churches, 
Lord  Byron  is  buried,  out  of  sight,  it  would  appear, 
and  out  of  mind,  of  all  England. 

The  church  is  a  small  stone  building,  with  the 
plaster  peeling  off  the  tower ;  the  porch  over  the 
door  is  made  of  rough  and  unpainted  beams.  The 
jnterior  is  also  mean,  with  a  row  of  rude  pillars  in 
the  middle,  altogether  reminding  me  of  Haworth 
Church.  At  the  upper  end  a  small  white  marble 
tablet  bears  the  well-known  inscription  :  — 

"  In  the  vault  beneath, 

Where  many  of  his  ancestors  and  his  mother  are  buried, 

Lie  the  remains  of 

GEORGE  GORDON  NOEL  BYRON, 

Lord  Baron  of  Rochdale 


LINCOLN  TO  ELY.  259 

In  the  County  of  Lancaster, 

The  author  of  Childe  Harold's  Pilgrimage. 

He  was  born  in  London  on  the 

22d  January,  1788 ; 

He  died  at  Missolonghi,  in  Modern  Greece,  on  the 

19th  of  April,  1824, 

Engaged  in  the  glorious  attempt  to  restore  that 

Country  to  her  ancient  freedom  and  renown." 

The  family  shield,  with  its  motto,  "  Crede  Byron," 
is  engraved  on  the  tablet. 

Here  the  poet's  mother  and  daughter  are  also 
buried,  but  with  nothing  erected  to  their  memory, 
if  we  except  two  worn  and  dirty  pasteboard  sheets, 
which  some  stranger  had  caused  to  be  made  and 
hung  up  there.  The  pen-and-ink  words  commem- 
orating Byron's  daughter  are  these  :  — 

"  The  Right  Honorable 

AUGUSTA  ADA, 

wife  of 

"William,  Earl  of  Lovelace, 

and  only  daughter  of 

George   Gordon   Noel, 

Lord  Byron. 

Born  10  Dec.,  1815; 

Died  27  Nov.,  1852." 

The  inscription  to  the  poet's  mother  declares  her 
to  have  been  a  lineal  descendant  of  James  I.  of 
Scotland. 

On  a  yellow  faded  marble  scroll,  in  a  recess 
formed  by  the  end  window,  is  an  ancient  monu- 
ment to  others  of  the  Byron  family,  some  of  them 
being  illustrious,  so  the  inscription  runs,  for  "  great 
Diety  and  goodness." 

A  simple  but  bitter  remark  of  the  poet  to  one 


260  OLD  ENGLAND. 

of  his  friends,  lias  always  seemed  to  me  a  key  of 
many  of  his  deepest  faults  of  character.  He  said, 
—  "I  never  was  governed  when  I  was  young." 
There  was  certainly  a  spring  of  latent  sweetness 
in  his  nature.  Reading  his  "  Childe  Harold  "  by 
the  mountain  grave  of  that  pure  spirit,  Alexander 
Vinet,  at  Clarens,  and  looking  down  on  the  placid 
Lake  of  Geneva,  where  the  poet  invoked  that 

"  Undying  Love  who  here  ascends  a  throne, 
To  which  the  steps  are  mountains,"  — 

I  felt  that  his  verse  was  no  desecration  of  that 
sublime  scenery.  I  do  not,  however,  blame  Eng- 
land for  being  slow  to  readopt  the  memory  of  an 
outcast  son  who  dishonored  the  two  great  lights 
of  her  glory,  her  Virtue  and  her  Home.  "  But," 
as  Richter  says,  "  have  not  giants  in  all  nations 
Marred  against  God  ?  " 

Newstead  Abbey  is  about  three  miles  from 
Hncknall  Church,  and  is  too  familiar  a  pilgrimage 
for  me  to  tread  over.  I  had  some  difficulty  in 
getting  to  it,  being  compelled  to  walk  a  goodly 
distance  in  a  hot  sun,  and  then  through  the  assist- 
ance of  a  little  lame  boy  who  was  the  only  person 
I  could  interest  in  my  behalf,  was  enabled  to  hear 
of  some  sort  of  wheeled  conveyance,  and  to  have 
the  promise  of  being  taken  up  in  an  express-wagon 
"  in  aboot  arf  an  oor."  This  was  indeed  gooc* 
news,  for  in  my  tired  and  heated  state  even  a 
ionkey-eart  would  have  been  hailed  with  joy. 

The  half  hour  had  grown  into  an  hour  or  more, 
vhen  a  good  fellow  driving  an  ample  "  spring-cart 


LINCOLN  TO  ELY.  261 

wheeled  up.  I  tumbled  into  its  capacious  depths, 
and  as  we  jogged  on  I  thought  of  Mrs.  Poyser's 
ambitious  speech,  —  "  If  you  can  catch  Adam  Bede 
for  a  husband,  Hetty,  you  '11  ride  in  your  own 
spring-cart  some  day."  I  had  attained  that  sublime 
position,  and  was  in  high  spirits,  when  we  met 
the  Lord  of  Newstead  Abbey,  the  late  Colonel 
Wildman,  driving  out  his  family,  with  whom  my 
coachman  exchanged  bows. 

Let  us  now  pay  a  brief  visit  to  the  Abbey  of 
Peterborough,  built  originally  in  the  fens  where 
English  piety  in  ancient  times  found  its  last  refuge. 
Its  inclosure  of  garden,  graveyai'd,  cloisters,  and 
schools,  is  a  most  venerable  spot.  The  nave  of  the 
Cathedral  is  Norman  Gothic,  with  three  tiers  of 
bow-headed  arches  forming  the  sides  and  the  clere- 
story.  The  length  is  four  hundred  and  seventy- 
nine  feet.  The  masses  of  shadow,  and  the  bold 
mingling  of  different  kinds  of  arches  and  of  their 
intersecting  lines,  make  the  interior  effect  singu- 
larly impressive.  Its  wealth  of  sepulchral  brasses 
is  still  remarkable,  though  greatly  despoiled  in  the 
civil  wars.  These  brasses,  once  called  "  latteen," 
laid  in  Purbeck  marble,  were  really  the  first  stereo- 
types. The  exterior  needs  a  lofty  tower  and  spire, 
but  the  defect  is  almost  compensated  bv  the  beauty 
of  the  west  front,  with  its  three  aeep-recessed 
pointed  doors,  like  a  great  organ -front.  The  south 
gateway  of  the  court  leading  into  the  Bishop's  Pal- 
ace is  a  gem  of  the    "  Early  English  "  style ;  its 


262  OLD  ENGLAND. 

graceful  groined  roof  and  its  turrets  adorned  with 
sculptures  of  saints  and  kings,  struck  me  as  being  a 
sort  of  ecclesiastical  or  Gothic  "  arch  of  Titus,"  as 
indeed  well  corresponding  to  the  old  Roman  arch 
in  size  and  beauty. 

Peterborough  was  the  native  place  of  Dr.  Paley. 
Though  a  city,  it  is  one  without  a  mayor  or  corpo- 
ration. 

I  was  attracted  around  by  the  way  of  Ely,  to  see 
the  Cathedral  there,  instead  of  taking  the  Hunting- 
don route  more  directly  to  Cambridge.  This  was 
quite  a  loss,  for  Oliver  Cromwell  was  born  in  Hunt- 
ingdon. Hinchinbroke  House,  the  property  of  his 
family,  now  belongs  to  the  Earl  of  Sandwich. 

But  Ely  Cathedral  was  not  to  be  lost.  It  is 
frozen  history  as  well  as  "  frozen  music."  I  value 
these  old  structures  because  such  wealth  of  English 
history  is  embodied  in  them  ;  their  human  inter- 
est after  all  is  greater  than  their  artistic.  Ely  is 
said  to  be  derived  from  "  willow,"  or  a  kind  of 
willow  or  ozier  island,  upon  which  the  abbey  and 
town  were  built  in  the  midst  of  the  marshes. 
Among  these  impenetrable  marshes  Hereward  the 
Saxon  retreated  ;  and  here,  too,  we  have  that  bit 
of  genuine  antique  poetry  which  from  its  simplicity 
must  have  described  a  true  scene  ;  and  we  catch  a 
glimpse  of  that  pleasing  and  soothing  picture  amid 
those  rude  and  bloody  days,  of  King  Canute  and 
bis  knights  resting  for  a  moment  upon  their  toiling 
lars  to  hear  the  vesper-song  of  the  monks  :  — 


LINCOLN  TO  ELY.  263 

"Merrily  sung  the  monks  within  Ely 
When  Canute  the  king  rowed  thereby; 
1  Row  me,  knights,  the  shore  along, 
And  listen  we  to  these  monks'  song.'  " 

The  foundation  of  the  Cathedral  was  laid  in  1083, 
and  it  was.  finished  in  1534.  In  printed  lists  of  its 
bishops,  as  in  those  of  other  English  cathedral 
churches,  I  have  noticed  that  they  are  given  in 
their  chronological  succession,  right  on,  the  bishops 
of  the  Reformed  Church  being  linked  upon  the 
Roman  Catholic  bishops.  The  bishopric  of  Ely 
was  partially  carved  out  of  the  bishopric  of  Lincoln, 
and  comprises  Cambridge  in  its  jurisdiction.  It 
has  therefore  had  all  the  riches,  influence,  taste 
and  learning  of  the  University  to  bear  upon  the 
restoration  of  its  noble  old  Cathedral ;  and  of  all 
the  old  churches  of  England  this  one  exhibits  indi- 
cations of  the  greatest  modern  care  and  thought 
bestowed  upon  it.  It  glows  with  new  stained-glass 
windows,  splendid  marbles,  exquisite  sculptures,  and 
bronze-work.  Its  western  tower,  266  feet  in 
height,  turreted  spires,  central  octagon  tower,  fly- 
ing buttresses,  unequalled  length  of  517  feet,  and 
its  vast  irregular  bulk  soaring  above  the  insignifi- 
cant  little  town  at  its  foot,  make  it  a  most  com- 
manding object  seen  from  the  flat  plain. 

What  is  called  the  octagon,  which  has  taken  the 
place  of  the  central  tower  that  had  fallen,  is  quite 
in  original  feature  of  the  church.  Eight  arches 
rising  from  eight  ponderous  piers  form  a  windowed 
lower,  or  lantern,  which  lets  in  a  flood  of  light 
Upon  the  otherwise  gloomy  interior.     Above   tho 


26<i  OLD  ENGLAND. 

key-stor.e  of  each  arch  is  the  carved  figure  of  a 
saint.  The  new  brasses  of  the  choir  are  wonder- 
fully elaborate.  The  bronze  scroll  and  vine-work 
of  the  gates  and  lamps,  for  grace  and  oriental  luxu- 
riance of  fancy,  for  their  arabesque  and  flower  de- 
signs, might  fitly  have  belonged  to  King  Solomon's 
Temple  of  old.  The  modern  wood-work  of  the 
choir  compares  also  well  with  the  ancient  wood- 
work carving.  Gold  stars  on  azure  ground,  and 
all  vivid  coloring  and  gilding,  are  freely  used.  The 
new  "  Reredos,"  or  altar-screen,  is  one  marvelous 
crystallization  of  sculptures.  The  ancient  Purbeck 
marble  pillars  have  been  scraped  and  re-polished, 
and  form  a  fine  contrast  to  the  white  marbles  on 
which  they  are  set. 

If  indeed  one  "wishes  to  see  what  modern  enthu- 
siasm, art,  and  lavish  wealth  can  do  for  the  restora- 
tion and  adorning  of  one  of  these  old  temples,  he 
must  go  to  Ely  Cathedral.  But  he  will  hear  the 
worthy  verger,  as  usual,  hurl  anathemas  against 
Cromwell ;  and  if  he  go  into  the  "  Lady  Chapel " 
and  see  every  head  of  every  statue  (and  their  name 
is  legion)  systematically  knocked  off,  he  will  feel  a 
pious  indignation  too  against  the  doer  of  it ;  but  he 
will  assoil  the  soul  of  Cromwell,  as  being  engaged 
in  bigger  business  of  destruction  than  this. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

THE    UNIVERSITIES. 

The  Universities  of  Oxford  and  Cambridge  are 
wonderfully  well  matched  in  point  of  historical  in- 
terest, size,  and  picturesque  beauty  of  buildings  and 
situation.  Oxford,  as  a  city,  has* some  superior  ad- 
vantages over  Cambridge,  and  its  one  magnificent 
High  Street  is  unrivaled.  But  there  are  particular 
points  in  Cambridge  more  striking  than  any  thing 
in  Oxford.  Nothing  in  Oxford  is  so  majestic  as 
King's  College  Chapel  in  Cambridge,  nor  so  lovely 
as  the  grounds  behind  Trinity  College  ;  and  I  was 
struck  with  the  positive  resemblances  between  Ox- 
ford and  Cambridge.  Both  are  situated  on  slightly 
rising  ground,  with  broad  green  meadows  and  a  flat, 
fenny  country  stretching  around  them.  The  wind- 
ing and  muddy  Cam,  holding  the  city  in  its  arm, 
might  be  easily  taken  for  the  fond  but  still  more 
capricious  Isis,  though  both  of  them  are  insignificant 
streams  ;  and  Jesus'  College  Green  and  Midsummer 
Common  at  Cambridge,  correspond  to  Christ  Church 
Meadows  and  those  bordering;  the  Cherwell  at  Ox- 
ford.  At  a  little  distance,  the  profile  of  Cambridge 
is  almost  precisely  like  that  of  Oxford,  while  glori- 
ous King's  College  Chapel  makes  up  all  deficiencies 


266  OLD  ENGLAND. 

n  the  architectural  features   and  outline   of  Cam- 
bridge. 

Starting  from  Bull  Inn,  we  will  not  linger  long 
in  the  streets,  though  we  might  be  tempted  to 
do  so  by  the  luxurious  book-shops,  but  will  make 
straight  for  the  gateway  of  Trinity  College.  This 
gateway  is  itself  a  venerable  and  imposing  struct- 
ure, although  a  mass  of  houses  clustered  about  it 
destroys  its  unity  with  the  rest  of  the  college  build- 
ings. Between  its  two  heavy  battlemented  towers 
is  a  statue  of  Edward  III.  and  his  coat-of-arms  , 
and  over  the  gate  Sir  Isaac  Newton  had  his  ob- 
servatory. 

This  gateway  opens  into  a  noble  court,  called 
the  Great  Court,  with  a  carved  stone  fountain  or 
canopied  well  in  the  centre,  and  buildings  of  irregu- 
lar sizes  and  different  ages  inclosing  it.  The  chapel 
which  forms  the  northern  side  of  this  court  dates 
back  to  1564.  In  the  ante-chapel,  or  vestibule, 
stands  the  statue  of  Sir  Isaac  Newton,  by  Roubilliac, 
bearing  the  inscription,  "  Qui  genus  humanum  in- 
genio  superavit !  '  It  is  spirited,  but,  like  all  tho 
works  of  this  artist,  unnaturally  attenuated.  The 
head  is  compact  rather  than  large,  and  the  forehead 
square  rather  than  high.  The  face  has  an  expres- 
sion of  abstract  contemplation,  and  is  looking  up,  as 
if  the  mind  were  just  fastening  upon  the  beautiful 
law  of  light  which  is  suggested  by  the  hand's  hold- 
ing a  prism.  By  the  door  of  the  screen  entering 
into  the  chapel  proper,  are  the  sitting  statues  of  Sir 
Francis  Bacon   and    Dr.   Isaac  Barrow,  two  mors 


THE  UNIVERSITIES.  267 

giants  of  this  college.  The  former  represents  the 
philosopher  in  a  sitting  posture,  wearing  his  high- 
crowned  hat,  and  leaning  thoughtfully  upon  his 
hand.  Isaac  Barrow,  who  sits  beside  him,  though 
a  wonderfully  learned  man,  was  sometimes  what 
old  English  authors  called  a  "  painful  preacher." 
On  one  occasion,  after  preaching  three  full  hours, 
the  organ  set  up  to  play,  and  fairly  blew  him  down  ; 
and  being  afterward  asked  if  he  were  not  fatigued 
by  so  great  an  intellectual  effort,  he  replied,  that 
"  indeed  he  did  feel  slightly  fatigued  with  standing 
up  that  time." 

There  is  also  in  this  vestibule  the  effigy  of  a 
ruder  Trinity  Anak  still,  Dr.  Porson.  At  evening 
prayers  in  this  chapel  I  could  fully  agree  with  the 
remark  of  Mr.  Bristed,  who  was  a  student  of  Trin- 
ity, that  a  company  of  smooth-faced  youths  in  white 
surplices  have  a  certain  "  innocent  look,"  as  if  they 
were  a  choir  of  Fra  Ange'lico's  angels. 

The  hall  of  Trinity  College,  which  separates  the 
Great  Court  from  the  Inner  or  Neville  Court, 
(courts  in  Cambridge,  quads  in  Oxford,)  is  the 
glory  of  the  college.  Its  interior  is  upward  of  one 
hundred  feet  in  length,  oak-wainscoted,  with  deep 
beam-work  ceiling,  now  black  with  age,  and  an 
enormous  fireplace,  which  in  winter  still  blazes 
frith  its  old  hospitable  glow.  At  the  upper  end 
where  the  professors  and  fellows  sit,  hang  the  por- 
traits of  Bacon  and  Newton.  I  had  the  honor  of 
dining  in  this  most  glorious  of  banqueting-halls,  at 
"he  invitation  of  a  fellow  of  the  college.     Before 


268  OLD  ENGLAND. 

meals,  the  ancient  Latin  grace,  somewhat  abbre* 
viated,  is  pronounced. 

On  the  side  of  the  hall,  and  in  the  same  build- 
ing,  is  the  college  kitchen.     A  glance  at  the  scien- 

©7  ©  © 

tific  operations  of  this  purely  physical  department 
of  the  University,  at  the  gigantic  spits  and  pans,  the 
vast  turtle-shells  and  pantry-moulds,  the  hills  of 
potted  meats,  pickles,  and  preserves,  the  cavernous 
fireplaces,  huge  cranes  and  brawny  scullions,  the 
blaze,  the  stir,  the  hissing  activity,  would  convince 
one  that  England  dines  her  scholars  bravely  every 
day  —  those  of  them,  at  least,  who  can  pay  for  it. 
In  the  centre  of  the  same  range  of  buildings  is 

©  © 

the  Combination  Room,  an  elegantly  furnished  par- 
lor, ornamented  with  portraits,  where  the  fellows 
of  the  college  retire  after  dinner  to  discuss  their 

© 

dessert  and  university  politics.  Upon  the  side- 
board I  noticed  a  large  and  elaborate  wedding-cake, 

©  ©  7 

recently  sent  in  by  a  fellow  to  his  quondam  bach- 
elor friends,  this  being  the  immemorial  penalty  of 
his  having  given  up  their  fellowship,  and  the  selfish 
luxuries  of  his  former  bachelor  condition  for  a  much 
better  fellowship. 

We  pass  through  the  hall  into  Neville  Court, 
three  sides  of  which  are  cloistered,  and  in  the  east- 
ern end  of  which  stands  the  fine  library  building, 
built  through  the  exertions  of  Dr.  Barrow,  who 
»vas  determined  that  nothing  in  Oxfcrd  should  sur- 

© 

pass  his  own  darling  college.  The  library  room  a 
nearlv  two  hundred  feet  long,  with  tesselated  mar 

•.  O7 

ble  floor,  and  with  the  busts  of  the  great  men  o* 


THE  UNIVERSITIES.  269 

Trinity  ranged  around  the  walls.  The  wood-carv- 
ings of  Grinling  Gibbons  that  adorn  this  room,  of 
flowers,  fruit,  wheat,  grasshoppers,  birds,  are  of 
singular  beauty,  and  make  the  hard  oak  fairly  bios 
som  and  live.  This  library  contains  the  most  com- 
plete collection  of  the  various  editions  of  Shaks- 
peare's  Works  which  exists.  Thorwaldsen's  statue 
of  Byron,  who  was  a  student  of  this  college,  stands 
at  the  south  end  of  the  room.  It  represents  him  in 
the  bloom  of  youth,  attired  as  a  pilgrim,  with  pencil 
in  hand  and  a  broken  Grecian  column  at  his  feet. 
Take  any  group  of  people,  old  men  and  children, 
middle-aged  men  and  beautiful  maidens,  and  how- 
ever  much  of  power,  loveliness,  and  poetry  there 
may  be  in  the  group,  yet  let  a  young  man  in  the 
first  glory  of  his  strength  and  beauty  pass  by,  and 
he  has  the  homage  of  all  hearts  —  he  is  king  of  all. 
But  to  this  add  genius,  like  a  visible  crown  on  his 
open  brow  and  clustering  locks,  as  Byron  is  here 
represented,  and  he  is  irresistible.  The  poet  is  set 
before  us  as  we  all  wish  he  might  have  been,  and 
perhaps  could  have  been,  but  was  not.  It  is  the 
ideal  poet  of  the  "Childe  Harold  " —  he  who  led  cap- 
tive at  his  will  the  old  and  young,  the  good  and  bad, 
the  high  and  low,  of  the  last  generation  of  men. 
It  is  surely  a  cause  of  sincere  thankfulness  that  the 
day  of  Byron  has  passed  away,  especially  among 
the  young  in  our  colleges  ;  and  that  the  day  of  a 
far  nobler,  purer,  and  profounder  poet,  Tennyson, 
aas  risen  like  a  day-spring  from  on  high. 
One  is  here  shown   the  cast  of  Newton's  face, 


270  OLD  ENGLAND. 

taken  after  death  ;  also  his  own  telescope,  and  many 
of  his  mathematical  instruments,  extremely  rude 
and  simple,  showing  that  it  is  not  the  perfection  of 
the  instrument  or  the  tool  that  makes  the  great  as- 
tronomer  or  discoverer,  but  the  force  of  the  brain 
and  the  spiritual  eye  that  lie  behind  it.  Trinit}r 
has  some  five  hundred  scholars  and  about  sixty  fel- 
lows ;  and  it  is  not  too  much  to  say  that,  with  its 
ancient  names  and  associations,  its  modern  corps  of 
instructors,  and  the  number  of  its  students,  it  is 
the  first  and  most  illustrious  single  college  in  the 
world. 

As  to  the  numbers  in  the  entire  Cambridge  Uni- 
versify,  I  have  seen  this  statement  recently  made, 
and  believe  it  to  be  correct :  There  are  517  ma- 
triculants, and  the  whole  number  of  residents  is 
2038,  of  whom  1226  are  in  the  colleges,  and  812 
are  lodgers. 

The  west  end  of  Trinity  borders  on  the  Cam, 
and  we  will  now  take  a  look  at  a  few  of  the  colleges 
lying  along  upon  the  river  bank. 

The  next  neighbor  to  Trinity  on  the  north,  and 
the  next  in  point  of  size  and  importance  in  the  Uni- 
versity, is  St.  John's  College.  It  has  four  courts, 
one  opening  into  the  other.  It  also  is  jealously 
surrounded  by  its  high  walls,  and  its  entrance  is  by 
a  ponderous  old  tower,  having  a  statue  of  St.  John 
the  Evangelist  over  the  gateway.  Through  a  cov 
ered  bridge,  not  unlike  "  the  Bridge  of  Sighs,' 
one  passes  over  the  stream  to  a  group  of  modern 
majestic  castellated    buildings  of  yellow  stone  be- 


THE  UNIVERSITIES.  271 

longing  to  tins  college.  The  grounds,  walks,  and 
thick  groves  connected  with  this  building  form 
an  elegant  academic  shade,  and  tempt  to  a  life 
of  exclusive  study  and  scholarly  accumulation,  of 
growing  fat  in  learning,  without  perhaps  growing 
muscular  in  the  effort  to  use  it.  The  plan  of  Fel- 
lowships, which  is  the  peculiar  feature  of  the  Eng- 
lish University,  and  which  often  is  continued  in  by 
a  scholar  for  a  whole  life,  is  a  remnant  of  monkish 
days,  of  the  celibacy  of  the  clergy,  and  must  inev- 
itably lead  to  this  life  of  literary  epicureanism.  It 
has  its  advantages.  A  Fellow  of  an  Oxford  college 
told  a  friend  of  mine  that  while  thirty-nine  good 
men  were  spoiled  by  it,  the  fortieth  man  was  a  grand 
production  —  perhaps  the  topmost  perfection  of  sci- 
ence and  civilization.  There  is  some  truth  in  this. 
Ample  time  is  given,  and  every  other  outward  aid, 
for  the  slow  and  symmetric  development  of  a  noble 
intellect.  The  genial  sun  shines  on  it  for  years, 
and  its  roots  strike  down  into  the  rich  soil  of  ancient 
learning,  of  the  mould  of  ages,  till  its  top  reaches 
heaven.  But  we  in  America  could  ill  afford  to 
spoil  so  many  good  trees  in  order  to  make  one  tall 
mast.  We  prefer  our  own  system  of  college  edu- 
ation,  which  brings  up  more  minds'  to  an  evenly 
high  level  of  mental  cultivation,  practical  scholar- 
ship, and  general  usefulness.  Our  collegiate  sys- 
tem might  perhaps  combine  something  of  this  Eng- 
lish system  of  Fellowships  m  the  modified  system 
of  scholarships,  extending  somewhat  beyond  tho 
'.crm  of  the  college  course,  and  which  is  already 


£72  OLD   ENGLAND. 

the  tendency  in  our  colleges.  The  system  of  Eng 
iish  Fellowships,  it  is  said,  produces  the  pure  love 
of  study  ;  the  desire  of  human  applause  dies  out , 
the  popular  ends  or  rewards  of  scholarship  are  de- 
spised :  and  the  love  of  learning  for  itself  alone  be- 
comes the  great  incentive.  A  university  man  will 
often  bring  out,  with  immense  labor  and  learning, 
an  anonymous  edition  of  a  difficult  Latin  author,  or 
an  elegant  translation  of  a  Greek  dramatist.  He 
shuns  public  notice.  He  sticks  to  his  incognito,  or 
goes  on  noiselessly  heaping  up  lore  and  producing 
learned  works,  that  in  any  other  country  would 
make  him  a  distinguished  name. 

We  give  an  extract  from  a  curious  account  of 
the  manners  of  scholars  at  St.  John's  in  the  reign 
of  Edward  VI.,  commending  it  to  the  attention  of 
our  American  young  gentlemen,  who  sometimes 
complain  of  the  hardships  of  college  life  :  —  "  There 
be  dyverse  ther,  which  ryse  dayly  betwixt  foure 
and  fyve  of  the  clocke  in  the  mornynge,  and  from 
fyve  untill  sixe  of  the  clocke  use  commen  prayer, 
with  an  exhortation  of  God's  worde,  in  a  common 
chappell,  and  from  sixe  unto  ten  of  the  clocke  use 
eyther  private  study  or  commune  lectures.  At 
tenne  of  the  clocke  they  go  to  dynner,  where  they 
be  content  with  a  penye  pyece  of  biefe  among 
foure,  havynge  a  few  porage  made  of  the  brothe 
of  the  same  biefe  wythe  salte  and  otemel,  and  noth- 
eng  else.  After  dynner,  they  go  eyther  teachynge 
.r  learnynge  untill  fyve  of  the  clocke  in  the  even- 
rnge,  when  they  have  a  supper  not  much  bettei 


THE  UNIVERSITIES.  27 


o 


khan  the  diner ;  immedyately  after  the  whyche, 
they  go  eyther  to  reasonynge  in  problemes,  or  into 
some  other  studye,  untill  it  be  nine  or  tenne  of  the 
clocke,  and  there  beynge  without  fyre  are  fayne  to 
walke  or  runne  up  and  downe  halfe  an  houre  to 
gette-  a  heate  on  thire  feete  when  they  go  to  bed." 

Among  the  eminent  men  of  St.  John's  College 
are  Ben  Jonson,  Stillino-fleet,  and  Sir  Robert  Cecil. 
This  was  also  Henry  Kirke  White's  college ;  and 
a  monument  has  been  erected  to  his  memory  in 
the  Church  of  all  Saints  by  an  American.  A  far 
greater  poet,  William  Wordsworth,  was  educated 
here,  and  it  was  a  college  vacation  trip  to  Switz- 
erland that  was  the  occasion  of  the  poems  called 
"  Descriptive  Sketches,"  Avhich  were  his  first  pub- 
lication. 

On  the  other  side  of  Trinity,  to  the  south,  is 
Trinity  Hall,  a  small  college,  and  almost  exclusive- 
ly devoted  to  law  studies.  Its  buildings  are  not 
remarkable.  Frederick  Denison  Maurice  and  his 
brother-in-law,  John  Sterling,  came  here  from 
Trinity  College.  Maurice  was  then  a  Dissenter, 
and  for  that  reason  could  not  take  advantage  of  the 
fellowship  which  was  offered  him. 

Directly  to  the  west  of  Trinity  Hall  is  Gonville 
>nd  Caius  College,  called  in  Cambridge  parlance 
'Keys."  The  southern  court  has  three  gates  — 
of  Humility,  Virtue,  and  Honor.  The  edifices  are 
of  the  Italian  style,  and  their  appearance  is  quiet 
and  scholastic.  Jeremy  Taylor  —  the  golden- 
mouthed  preacher,  whose  imagination  was  Oriental 

18 


274  OLD  ENGLAND. 

aven  under  the  foggy  skies  of  England  —  studied 
in  this  college. 

Next  to  the  north  of  Trinity  Hall  is  beautiful 
Clare  Hall.  In  the  civil  war  this  college  suffered 
greatly,  and  especially  its  chapel.  The  following 
is  an  item  from  the  report  of  the  Parliamentary 
commission  :  —  "  We  destroyed  in  the  presence  of 
Mr.  Gunny,  fellow,  3  cherubims,  the  12  apostles, 
a  cross,  and  6  of  the  fathers,  and  ordered  the  steps 
to  be  levelled."  The  long  river-front  of  this  col- 
lege is  exceedingly  elegant,  being  built  in  the  Ital- 
ian style  of  the  17th  century.  Seating  one's  self 
upon  the  river-bank,  under  the  great  willow-tree  at 
the  southern  angle  of  this  hall,  one  may  watch  the 
young  men  darting  by  in  their  narrow  "  shells," 
and  disappearing  like  noiseless  phantoms  under 
the  shadowy  arches  of  the  old  bridge.  Beautiful, 
dreamy  college  life !  how  swiftly  it  glides  into  and 
under  the  dark  shadows  of  the  actual,  and  its  free 
joyousness  vanishes  ! 

King's  College,  founded  by  Henry  VII.,  from 
whom  it  takes  its  name,  comes  next  in  order.  Its 
wealthy  founder,  who,  like  his  son,  loved  architect- 
ural pomp,  had  great  designs  in  regard  to  this  insti- 
tution, which  were  cut  off  by  his  death,  but  the 
massive  unfinished  gateway  of  the  old  building 
stands  as  a  regal  specimen  of  what  the  whole  plan 
would  have  been  had  it  been  carried  out.  Henry 
VIII.,  however,  perfected  some  of  his  father's  de- 
ligns  on  a  scale  of  true  magnificence.  King's  Coi* 
lege  Chapel,  the  glory  of  Cambridge  and  England, 


THE  UNIVERSITIES.  275 

K  in  the  Perpendicular  style  of  English  Gothic. 
It  is  three  hundred  and  sixteen  feet  long,  eighty- 
four  feet  broad,  its  sides  ninety  feet,  and  its  tower 
one  hundred  and  forty-six  feet  high.  Its  lofty  inte- 
rior stone  roof  in  the  fan-tracery  form  of  groined 
ceiling,  has  the  appearance  of  being  composed  of 
immense  white  scallop-shells,  with  heavy  corbels 
of  rich  flowers  and  bunches  of  grapes  suspended  at 
their  points  of  junction.  The  ornamental  emblem 
of  the  Tudor  rose  and  portcullis  is  carved  in  every 
conceivable  spot  and  nook.  Twenty-four  stately 
and  richly  painted  windows,  divided  into  the  strong 
vertical  lines  of  the  Perpendicular  style,  and  crossed 
at  right  angles  by  lighter  transoms  and  more  deli- 
cate circular  mouldings,  with  the  great  east  and 
west  windows  flashing  in  the  most  vivid  and  superb 
colors,  make  it  a  gorgeous  vision  of  light  and  glory. 
One  could  wish  that  the  clumsy  wooden  screen  in 
the  centre  of  the  chapel  were  away,  so  that  he 
might  at  a  glance  see  the  whole  length  and  breadth 
and  height  of  this  truly  august  room.  It  has  been 
sometimes  compared  to  the  Sistine  Chapel  at 
Rome  ;  but  with  all  the  advantages  of  Michael 
Angelo's  adorning  hand  in  the  wonderful  frescoes 
of  the  chapel,  that  is  but  a  dull  and  cavernous 
apartment,  something  belonging  to  this  earth,  com- 
pared with  the  soaring  majesty  and  ethereal  splen- 
dors of  this  gem  of  Gothic  architecture.  This  is 
in  instance  of  the  last  pure  English  Gothic. 

Queen's  College,  the  next  south  upon  the  river,  is 
iistinjniished  as  the  residence  of  Erasmus  during  his 


276  OLD  ENGLAND. 

second  visit  to  England  from  1510  to  1516.  He 
Buffered  much  persecution  and  obloquy  in  liis  at- 
tempt to  introduce  the  study  of  Greek  into  Cam- 
bridge, which  study  was,  curiously  enough,  still 
more  obstinately  opposed  at  Oxford.  Erasmua 
speaks  of  the  educational  condition  of  Cambridge 
in  his  day  thus :  —  "  About  thirty  years  ago  noth- 
ing was  taught  in  the  University  of  Cambridge 
except  Alexander,  (the  middle-age  Latin  poem  of 
Walter  de  Castellio)  the  Parva  Logicalia,  as  they 
called  them,  (a  scholastic  treatise  written  by  Petrus 
Hispanus,)  and  three  old  dictates  of  Aristotle,  and 
questions  of  Scotus.  In  process  of  time  there  was 
an  accession  of  good  learning :  a  knowledge  of 
mathematics  was  introduced  ;  then  came  in  a  new 
or  at  least  a  regenerate  Aristotle ;  the  knowledge 
of  the  Greek  literature  was  added,  with  so  many  au- 
thors whose  very  names  were  not  formerly  known." 
We  do  indeed  owe  the  revival  of  sound  learning  in 
England,  as  well  as  on  the  Continent,  to  the  Ref- 
ormation. This  college  has  two  courts.  There  is 
a  fine  terrace-walk  on  the  opposite  bank  of  the 
river  shaded  by  noble  elms. 

Turning  now  from  the  river-side,  and  continuing 
cur  stroll  along  Trumpington  Street,  we  come  to 
St.  Peter's  College,  the  oldest  foundation  in  Cam- 
bridge, having  been  established  in  1257.  We 
sometimes  speak  of  old  Yale  and  old  Harvard,  but 
when  we  look  upon  a  college  which  dates  back  tc 
the  time  of  the  Crusades,  when  much  of  Europe 
is  well  as  Asia  was  still  lying  in  heathen  darkness, 


&rs- 

THE  UNIVERSITIES.  277 

we  feel  that  our  American  colleges  are  but  wild 
T'oung  children  of  the  forest  and  of  yesterday.  St. 
Peter's  was  originally,  as  most  of  the  older  colleges 
were,  an  ecclesiastical  "  hostel,"  half-convent,  half- 
hospital  ;  its  buildings  are  modernized  and  are  not 
noteworthy.  The  celebrated  Puritan  general, 
Colonel  Hutchinson,  was  educated  here. 

On  the  same  street,  and  nearly  opposite  St.  Pe- 
ter's, is  Pembroke  College  (there  is  likewise  a  Pem- 
broke of  Oxford),  with  a  quaint  gable  front.  Its 
Duildings  are  small,  and  it  is  said,  for  some  greatly 
needed  city  improvement,  will  probably  be  soon 
torn  down  ;  on  hearing  which,  I  thought,  would 
that  some  genius  like  Aladdin's,  or  some  angel  who 
bore  through  the  air  the  chapel  of  the  "  Lady  of 
Loretto,"  might  bear  these  old  buildings  bodily  to 
our  land  and  set  them  down  on  the  Yale  grounds,  so 
that  we  might  exchange  their  picturesque  antiquity  <9>-^ 

for    the    present   college  buildings,  which,  though 
endeared  to  us  by  many  associations,  are  like  a  row      v_v^-** 
of  respectable  brick  factories. 

Edmund  Spenser  and  William  Pitt  belonged  to 
Pembroke  ;  and  Gray,  the  poet,  driven  from  St. 
Peter's  by  the  pranks  and  persecutions  of  his 
fellow-students,  spent  the  remainder  of  his  uni- 
versity life  here.  Some  of  the  cruel,  practical 
jokes  inflicted  upon  a  timid  and  deiicate  nature 
sound  like  the  modern  days  of  "  hazing  freshmen." 
Among  his  other  fancies  and  fears,  Gray  was  known 
to  be  especially  afraid  of  fire,  and  kept  always 
coiled   up  in  his  room  a  rope-ladder,  in  case  of 


278  OLD  ENGLAND. 

emergency.  By  a  preconcerted  signal,  on  a  dark 
winter  night,  a  tremendous  cry  of  fire  was  raised 
in  the  court  below,  which  caused  the  young  poet 
to  leap  out  of  bed  and  to  descend  hastily  his  rope- 
ladder  into  a  mighty  tub  of  ice-cold  water,  set  for 
that  purpose. 

St.  Katharine's  Hall  is  also  situated  on  Trump- 
ington  Street,  immediately  to  the  south  of  King's 
College.  It  is  distinguished  for  the  great  number 
of  eminent  theologians  who  have  been  educated 
within  its  walls,  among  whom  was  Thomas  Sher- 
lock. It  is  a  small  college  and  its  buildings  are 
plain.  Corpus  Christi,  just  opposite,  has  a  towered 
and  battlemented  frontage,  and  its  buildings  are  of 
imposing  Tudor  architecture. 

Following  up  Trumpington  and  Trinity  Streets 
to  the  north,  we  come  into  Bridge  Street,  which  is 
continued  along  in  Magdalene  Street,  upon  which 
is  Magdalene  College,  standing  also  partly  on  the 
river,  which  curves  in  here.  Its  library  contains 
the  valuable  antique  collection  of  black  letter  vol- 
umes of  Samuel  Pepys.  Charles  Kingsley  was  a 
student  of  Magdalene.  It  is  called  a  plain  college  ; 
but  what  would  be  called  plain  in  the  Old  World 
would  be  elaborately  ornamental  with  us. 

Coming  back  to  Bridge  Street,  and  turning  to 
the  west  into  Jesus'  Lane,  we  arrive  at  Jesus'  Col- 
lege, a  most  delightful  and  retired  spot,  the  very 
home  and  haunt  of  the  Muses.  The  old  saying 
.s,  "  Pray  at  King's,  eat  at  Trinity,  and  study  at 
Jesus."     Springing  out  of  an  ancient  nunnery,  i" 


THE  UNIVERSITIES.  279 

still  retains  its  antique  cloisters  and  its  grave  and 
almost  austere  ecclesiastical  character.  The  gar- 
den and  grounds  are  of  dark  and  rich  luxuriance, 
and  will  compare  with  any  in  Oxford.  It  has  been 
a  college  about  five  hundred  years,  having  been 
founded  four  years  after  the  discovery  of  America. 
The  number  of  students  is  noAv  small,  averacrino; 
some  sixty.  Archbishop  Cranmer  was  a  scholar 
of   this   foundation.     Coleridge's    room    is   in    the 

© 

oldest  and  dingiest  portion  of  the  edifice,  looking 
out  upon  the  secluded  garden.  But  the  outside  of 
these  college  rooms  gives  little  idea  of  the  comfort 
and  oftentimes  luxury  of  their  interior  ;  and  when 
the  rough  oak  "  sporting-door,"  as  it  is  called, 
opens  upon  apartments  which  unite  the  privacy 
of  ancient  monkish  seclusion  with  the  elegant  ease 
of  the  modern  refined  and  wealthy  man  of  letters, 
the  visitor,  if  he  come  from  the  New  World,  with 
its  simpler  ideas  of  college  life  and  manners,  is 
filled    with    astonishment.      Returning    to    Bridge 

©  © 

Street,  at  the  corner  of  Jesus'  Lane  and  Bridge 
Street,  we  come  upon  Sidney  Sussex  College,  with 
its  formal  high-stepped  gable-ends,  founded  in  1596 
by  the  aunt  of  Sir  Philip  Sidney.  The  buildings 
are  of  the  later  Elizabethan  style,  with  red  brick 
copings.  The  master's  garden  connected  with  this 
college  is  a  pleasant  and  shut-in  spot,  with  an 
abundance  of  old  trees,  and  is  almost  as  shadowy 
and  solitary  as  the  heart  of  a  forest.  These  gar- 
dens and  parks  are  a  prime  feature  of  the  English 
University.     They  are  kept  in  exquisite  trim,  and 


280  OLD  ENGLAND. 

are  rich  with  beds  of  bright,  rare  flowers,  and  beau- 
tiful with  their  smooth-shorn  lawns,  filled  with  that 
soft,  mossy- velvet  turf —  that  "  living  green  "  — 
so  peculiar  to  misty  England.  What  could  be  a 
more  grateful  resort  and  true  refreshment  for  the 
vveary  student  than  one  of  these  tranquil  and 
shadowy  gardens ;  and  what  is  more  purifying 
and  vivifying  to  the  mind  itself  than  this  daily  con- 
tact with  the  most  beautiful  things  and  sights  of 
Nature  ?  It  is  grievous  to  think  that  our  Ameri- 
can colleges  were  not  able  to  reserve  for  themselves 
broader  grounds  for  the  free  cultivation  of  Nature 
about  them ;  that,  instead  of  being  placed  in  the 
centre  of  bustling  towns,  they  could  not  have  been 
more  entirely  secluded  or  shut  in  from  the  noisy 
outside  world  by  a  screen  of  shady  trees  and  quiet 


meadows,  and  thus  been  wholly  consecrated  to  the 
purposes  of  study  and  spiritual  improvement. 

Sidney  Sussex  and  Immanuel  Colleges  were 
called  by  Archbishop  Laud  "  the  nurseries  of  Puri- 
tanism." The  college-book  of  Sidney  Sussex  con- 
tains this  record :  "  Oliverus  Cromwell  Hunting- 
doniensis  admissus  ad  commeatum  sociorum  Aprilis 
vicesimo  sexto,  tutore  mag.  Richardo  Howlet 
[1616]."  He  had  just  completed  his  seventeenth 
year.  Cromwell's  father  dying  the  next  year,  and 
leaving  but  a  small  estate,  the  young  "  Protector  " 
was  obliged  to  leave  college  for  more  practical  pur- 
suits. "  But  some  Latin,"  Bishop  Burnet  said 
*'  stuck  to  him."  An  oriel  window,  looking  upo* 
Bridge  Street,  is  pointed  out  as  marking  his  room 


THE  UNIVERSITIES.  281 

«nd  in  the  master's  lodge  is  a  likeness  of  Cromwell 
in  his  later  years,  said  to  be  the  best  extant.  The 
gray  hair  is  parted  in  the  middle  of  the  forehead, 
and  hangs  down  long  upon  the  shoulders,  like  that 
of  Milton.  The  forehead  is  high  and  swelling, 
with  a  deep  line  sunk  between  the  eyes.  The 
eyes  are  gray.  The  complexion  is  florid  and  mot- 
tled, and  all  the  features  rugged  and  large.  Heavy, 
corrugated  furrows  of  decision  and  resolute  will  are 
plowed  about  the  mouth,  and  the  lips  are  shut  like 
a  vice.  Otherwise,  the  face  has  a  calm  and  be- 
nevolent look,  not  unlike  that  of  Benjamin  Frank- 
lin. Indeed  —  although  in  an  aesthetic  point  of 
view  the  comparison  might  not  be  considered  a 
flattering  one  by  the  distinguished  clergyman  — 
the  face  struck  me  as  bearing  a  rough  likeness  to 
the  leading  minister  of  New  Haven.  In  Sidney 
Sussex,  Cromwell's  College,  and  in  two  or  three 
other  colleges  of  Cambridge  University,  we  find 
the  head-sources  of  English  Puritanism,  which,  in 
its  best  form,  was  no  wild  and  unenlightened  en- 
thusiasm, but  the  product  of  thoughtful  and  edu- 
cated mind.  We  shall  come  soon  upon  the  name 
of  Milton.  John  Robinson,  our  national  father, 
and  the  Moses  of  our  national  exodus,  as  well  as 
Elder  Brewster,  John  Cotton,  and  many  others  of 
the  principal  Puritan  leaders  and  divines,  were 
educated  at  Cambridge.  Sir  Henry  Vane,  the 
rounder,  whom  Macintosh  regarded  as  not  inferior 
o  Bacon  in  depth  of  intellect,  and  to  whom  Milton 
tddressed  the  sonnet,  who  was   chosen    Governor 


282  OLD  ENGLAND. 

of  Massachusetts,  and  who  infused  much  of  his 
own  thoughtful  and  profound  spirit  into  Puritan 
institutions  at  home  and  in  America,  was  a  student 
of  Magdalene  College,  Oxford. 

A  little  further  on  to  the  south  of  Sidney  Sus- 
sex, upon  St.  Andrew's  Street,  is  Christ's  College. 
The  front  and  gate  are  old  ;  the  other  buildings 
are  after  a  design  by  Inigo  Jones.  In  the  garden 
stands  the  famous  mulberry-tree  said  to  have  been 
planted  by  Milton.  It  is  still  vigorous,  though 
carefully  propped  up  and  mounded  around,  and  its 
aged  trunk  is  sheathed  with  lead.  The  martyr 
Latimer,  John  Howe,  the  prince  of  theological 
writers,  and  Archdeacon  Paley,  belonged  to  this 
college  ;  but  its  most  brilliant  name  is  that  of  John 
Milton.  He  entered  in  1624  ;  took  the  degree  of 
Bachelor  of  Arts  in  1628,  and  that  of  Master  of 
Arts  in  1632.  This  is  the  entry  in  the  college  rec- 
ord :  "Johannes  Milton  Londinensis,  filius  Johan- 
nis,  institutus  fuit  in  literarum  elementis  sub  magis- 
tro  Hill  gymnasii  Paulini  prasfecto,  admissus  est  pen- 
sionarius  minor,  Feb.  12,  1624,  sub  Mr0,  Chappell, 
solvitque  pro  ingr.  0.  10s.  OcZ."  Milton  has  indig- 
nantly defended  himself  against  the  slander  of  his 
political  enemies,  that  he  left  college  in  disgrace, 
and  calls  it  "  a  commodious  lie."  In  answer  to  the 
ecornful  question  as  to  "  what  were  his  ways  while 
it  the  University,"  he  says :  "  Those  morning 
i.aunts  are  what  they  should  be  at  home,  not  sleep 
mg,  or  concocting  the  surfeits  of  an  irregular  feast 
»ut  up  and  stirring  —  in  winter,  often  ere  the  some 


THE  UNIVERSITIES.  288 

2>f  any  bell  awoke  men  to  labor  or  to  devotion  ;  in 
luinmer,  as  oft  with  the  bird  that  first  rouses,  or  not 
much  tardier,  to  read  good  authors,  or  cause  them 
to  be  read,  till  the  attention  be  weary,  or  memory 
have  its  full  fraught ;  then  with  useful  and  gener- 
ous labors  preserving  the  body's  health  and  hardi- 
ness to  render  lightsome,  clear,  and  not  lumpish 
obedience  to  the  mind,  to  the  cause  of  religion  ancl 
our  country's  liberty,  in  sound  bodies  to  stand  and 
cover  their  stations."  There  are  similar  words  of 
Milton  which  ought  to  be  engraved  on  the  heart  of 
every  young  man  and  scholar :  "  He  who  would 
not  be  frustrated  of  his  hope  to  write  well  hereafter 
in  laudable  things,  ou^ht  of  himself  to  be  a  true 
poem,  that  is,  a  composition  and  pattern  of  the  best 
and  honorablest  things  ;  not  presuming  to  sing  the 
high  praises  of  heroic  men  and  famous  cities,  unless 
he  has  himself  the  experiences  and  the  practice  of 
all  that  is  praiseworthy."  When  we  reflect  that 
Milton  came  within  a  hair's  breadth  of  laying  his 
own  gray  head  on  the  block,  and  in  fact  invited 
death  with  unbending  will  for  truth's  sake,  we  may 
see  in  him  that  "  true  poem  "  of  a  heroic  life.  It 
is  noticeable  that  Cambridge  has  produced  all  the 
great  poets  ;  Oxford,  with  her  yearnings  and  striv- 
•ngs,  none.  Milton  were  glory  enough  ;  but  Spen- 
ser, Gray,  Byron,  Coleridge,  Wordsworth,  Tenny- 
son (a  Lincolnshire  man  J,  may  be  thrown  in.  It 
wight  be  said  of  Cambridge,  as  Dr.  Johnson  said 
f  Pembroke  College,  "  We  are  a  *iest  of  sino-ino 
birds  here."     Milton,  from  the  extreme  elegance 


284  OLD  ENGLAND. 

of  his  person  and  his  mind,  rather  than  from  any 
effeminateness  of  character,  was  called  while  in  the 
University,  "  the  lady  of  Christ's  College."  The 
young  poet  could  not  have  been  inspired  by  out- 
ward Nature  in  his  own  room  ;  for  the  miniature 
lormer-windows  are  too  high  to  look  out  of  at  all. 
It  is  a  small  attic  chamber,  with  very  steep  narrow 
stairs  leading  up  to  it.  The  name  of  "  Milton  " 
(so  it  is  said  to  be,  though  hard  to  make  out)  is 
cut  in  the  old  oaken  door. 

Upon  the  same  street,  further  to  the  south,  is 
Emmanuel  College,  "  a  seminary,"  as  it  has  been 
called,  "  for  Puritan  divines."  Its  founder,  Sir 
Walter  Mildmay,  was  the  leader  of  the  Puritan 
party  in  Queen  Elizabeth's  day  ;  and  during  the  im- 
mediately succeeding  reigns  the  college  flourished 
beyond  any  other.  It  sent  forth  a  great  number 
of  preachers,  who  gave  a  mighty  impulse  to  the 
spiritual  and  political  struggles  of  those  days. 
Would  it  be  too  much  to  trace  our  own  religious 
and  political  liberties  back  to  this  and  its  sister  col- 
leges ?  This  college  is  intimately  and  peculiarly 
American  in  its  names  and  associations.  John 
Robinson,  Samuel  Stone  and  Thomas  Hooker  the 
founders  of  Connecticut,  together  with  Thomas 
^y^  Shepard,  and  Henry  Dunster  the  second  president 
\y^  of  Harvard  College,  were  graduates  of  Emmanuel. 
u^r^  This  college    has  a  long  and    more  modern  Ionic 

front  upon  the  street,  though  some  of  its  buildings 
B,re  old,  and  of  the  Tudor  Gothic  style.  Ralpk 
Cudworth  was  a  student  of  Emmanuel. 


THE  UNIVERSITIES.  285 

Following  St.  Andrew's  Street  down  into  Re- 
gent Street,  we  come  upon  the  extensive  grounds 
and  classic  edifices  of  Downing  College,  the  young- 
est of  the  university  brood,  founded  in  1800  by  Sir 
George  Downing,  the  descendant  of  a  distinguished 
Puritan  statesman  of  the  same  name.  Downing 
College  has  some  peculiarities  in  the  terms  of  its 
admissions  and  fellowships. 

We  have  now  walked  around  all  the  colleges  ; 
and  even  from  this  glance  we  can,  I  think,  see  that 
these  venerable  piles,  these  names  of  living  power, 
these  portraits  of  great  Englishmen  adorning  the 
public  halls  where  the  students  gather  morning  and 
evenincr,  these  historic  scenes  and  walks  and  shades, 
are  in  themselves  strong  inspiring  forces  to  awaken 
the  best  ambition  of  young  minds.  Why  could  we 
not  now  beg-in  to  have  in  our  own  colleges  more  of 
this  sensible  appeal  to  the  past,  more  of  the  influ- 
ence of  the  commemorative  arts,  to  stimulate  the 
forming  educated  mind  of  the  country  and  draw  it 
toward  lofty  aims  and  ideas  ? 

I  was  so  fortunate,  or  perhaps  unfortunate,  as  to 
be  in  Oxford  during  "  Commemoration  '!'  week. 
Its  heat,  bustle,  and  confusion  remind  one  vividly 
of  "  Commencement  "  season  at  Yale  or  Harvard. 
The  town  was  so  full  that  I  was  obliged  to  find 
lodcriiiors  in  Woodstock,  eight  miles  distant.  Every 
vehicle  had  also  been  forestalled,  though  at  last  an 
antique  chariot  was  dragged  to  light,  whose  bowl- 
ake  body,  with  its  perked-up  lofty  ends,  the  one 
orecisely  like  the  other,  made  it  resemble  a  Roman 


S86  OLD   ENGLAND. 

galley,  such  as  might  have  been  used  in  the  sea- 
fight  at  Aetium.  Nevertheless,  a  comfortable  voy- 
age was  made  to  the  "  Bear  Inn,'*'  Woodstock.  In 
good  season  the  next  morning,  of  a  bright  hot  June 
day,  I  returned  to  Oxford.  Across  the  flat  mead- 
ows and  through  the  shimmering  summer  air  the 
elegant  spires  and  domes  of  Oxford  appeared  ;  and 
on  passing  "  Martyr's  Memorial,"  the  general 
movement  and  stir  of  the  great  day  was  alreaay 
visible  in  the  wide  half-rural  street.  The  shovel- 
crowned  Oxford  caps  and  billowy  black  silk  gowns 
of  the  collegians,  were  rapidly  sailing  to  and  fro  ; 
multitudes  of  ladies  were  astir  to  secure  good 
places ;  and  the  more  ponderous  bodies  of  univer- 
sity dignitaries  were  beginning  to  collect  slowly 
their  forces.  The  point  of  interest  was  the  build- 
ing called  the  "  Theatre,"  on  Broad  Street,  and  a 
crowd  of  visitors  had  gathered  at  the  closed  iron 
gate  that  opened  into  the  yard  in  front  of  the 
"  schools."  Here  stood  the  beadles,  or  in  Oxford 
parlance,  "  pokers,"  keeping  guard  with  their  long 
sticks.  Rolls  of  thunderous  noise  came  from  the 
impatient  students  assembled  within  the  building. 
By  the  courtesy  of  a  doctor  of  divinity,  in  scarlet 
robe,  with  sleeves  of  black  velvet,  I  at  length 
gained  admission.  There  the  scene  was  peculiar. 
The  room  is  a  lofty  circular  area,  and  the  under- 
graduates were  clustered  like  a  great  swarm  of 
bees,  tier  above  tier,  in  the  upper  galleries.  There 
was  a  circle  of  ladies  in  the  lower  gallery  ;  but  it 
must  have  been  a  considerable  trial  of  the  nervei 


TTIE  UNIVERSITIES.  287 

for  them  to  remain  there.  Surely,  it  was  a  won- 
derfully noisy  time,  for  English  lungs  are  powerful. 
There  is  very  fair  wit  sometimes  struck  out  by  the 
Btudents  on  Commemoration  Day ;  but  I  must  say 
that  I  did  not  hear  any,  perhaps  from  the  fact  that 
it  was  so  difficult  to  hear  any  thing  at  all.  For  one 
just  from  the  New  World  —  from  the  woods  as  it 
were  —  feeling  a  proper  sense  of  awe  in  regard  to 
all  things  connected  with  a  university  founded  by 
Alfred  the  Great,  it  was  rather  odd  to  be  suddenly 
ushered  into  such  a  babel  and  roar  of  nonsense, 
proceeding  from  the  throats  of  the  express  flower  of 
British  youth. 

As  the  beorowned  regents,  doctors,  and  officials 
of  high  and  low  degree  began  to  assemble  and  take 
their  seats  on  a  lower  circle  of  the  proscenium, 
there  was  now  a  general  groan  for  some  one,  called 
out  by  name,  and  then  a  tremendous  hurra  for 
another,  but  the  groans  predominated.  Brays  of 
donkeys,  crowings  of  cocks,  laughings  of  hyenas, 
and  all  the  uncommon  sounds  that  a  crowd  of  col- 
lege boys,  totally  unrestrained  and  stimulated  by 
rivalry,  can  make,  gave  the  only  variety  to  the 
steady  Bull-of-Bashan  roar  kept  up  by  all.  Wit, 
sharp  and  saucy,  would  have  been  a  relief;  but,  as 
I  say,  I  did  not  hear  it.  The  capital  hit  at  Tenny- 
son, some  years  ago,  made  by  a  collegian,  is  quite 
^miliar  perhaps  to  my  readers,  but  will  bear  re- 
peating. The  poet  is  said  to  be  as  negligent  in  his 
personal  appearance  and  dress  as  poets  commonly 
we.     That  morning  as  he  came  into  the  "  Thea- 


288  OLD  ENGLAND. 

tre  "  and  took  his  seat  among  the  distinguished 
guests,  he  was  particularly  unkempt  and  uncared 
for  in  the  outer  man.  A  cool,  drawling  voice  was 
heard  from  the  highest  student  gallery,  saying : 
"  Did  your  mother  call  you  early,  Mr.  Tennyson?" 
The  pensive  author  of  "  May  Queen  "  might  have 
been  excused  for  laughing  heartily. 

At  length  the  Vice  Chancellor   rose  —  a  fine- 
looking,   dignified  man  —  and  putting  on  his  cap, 
pronounced  the  usual  opening  Latin  address.     For 
a  few  moments  he  was  allowed  to  proceed  quietly, 
and  I  thought  that  the  famous  Oxford  saturnalia 
was  ended,  and  that  the  regular  exercises  of  the 
day  had  begun.     But  no  !     A  voice  from  the  stu- 
dent tiers  began  to  mimic  the  tone  of  the  speaker ; 
then  as  any  personal  eulogistic  allusion  occurred, 
some  one  would  squeak  out,  "  Put  it  on  strong  !  " 
Then  there  would  be  a  general  clamor,  and  several 
times  in  the  course  of  the  twenty  minutes'  address, 
the  Vice-Chancellor  was  compelled  to  stop,  trying 
to  look  composed,  but,  as  it  appeared  to  me,  feeling 
considerably  chafed.    A  Latin  essay  was  then  read, 
interrupted  at  every  sentence  by  "  We  've  heard 
that  before,"  and  "  The  rest  to  be  understood,"  etc. 
The  speaker  struggled  gallantly    through,   like   a 
staunch  craft  in  a  hurricane.       Any  tendency  to 
the  Ciceronian  was  instantly  greeted  with  sarcastic 
shrieks,  and  rotund  Latin  sentences,  with  plenty  of 
qualificatives  and  superlatives,  helped  out  the  ora- 
tor's sentences  in  the  same  tone  in  which  they  were 
delivered,  only  "  a  little  more  so."     So  also  farec 


THE  UNIVERSITIES.  289 

whe  addresses  of  the  Professor  of  Civil  Law  and  the 
Public  Orator.     But  the  pieces  of  the  undergradu- 
ates   were   much    less   interrupted.       They   were, 
however,    hurried    through    in    low,    monotonous 
voices,  and   at   railroad   speed,  as    if  the    speaker         ^  t 
either  feared  the  "  boys-terous  "  comment   or  de- 
spised the  part  he  was  performing.     The  Newde-     &  ~g 
gate  or  Prize  Poem  —  the  same  for  which  Reginald 
Heber   wrote   his  "  Palestine  "  —  was  well   deliv- 
ered, and   had   a   happily  chosen  theme,  touching 
successfully  now  and  then  the  chord  of  British  pat- 
riotism,  and  calling  forth  great  applause.     There 
was  also  a  Carmen  Latinum,  by  a  student  of  Balliol 
College.     After  the  exercises,  which  were  rather 
bluntly  concluded,  were  ended,  I  had  time  to  look 
About   the    "  Theatre."     It   was  designed    by  Sir 
Christopher  Wren,  and  was  the  gift  of  Archbishop 
Sheldon,  whose  plan  in  its  foundation  was  to  remove 
the  secular  ceremonies  of  the   University  from  sa- 
cred   buildings  —  a  hint   foi    our  colleges.     Here 
ar?  celebrated  "  all  the  public  acts  of  the  Univer- 
sity, the  Comitia  and  Encoenia,  and  Lord  Crewe'a 
annual   commemoration    of  founders  and  benefac- 
lors  "  —  the  great  day  at  Oxford.     This  building 
forms  one  of  that  constellation  of  grand  old  edifices, 
made    by  the   schools,   the   Bodleian  Library,   tho 
Rudcliffe  Library,  and  St.  Mary's  Church,  which 
are  the  common  heart  and  centre  of  the  University. 
The  stone  of  which  the  Oxford  College  buildings 
are  built  is  unfortunately  a  very  soft  stone,  and  the 
Dissent  ragged,  scarred,    and  peeled  condition   of 

19 


290  OLD  ENGLAND. 

those  beautiful  structures  can  hardly  be  imagined. 
Some  of  them  are  completely  honey-combed.  In 
many  instances  they  are  rebuilding,  or  rather  mak- 
ing over  the  edifice  stone  for  stone,  in  exactly  the 
old  style  and  pattern. 

The  ivy-mantled  walls,  green  archery  lawns, 
shadowy  walks,  brown  sombre  buildings,  and  ven- 
erable quadrangles  of  New  College,  William  of 
Wykeham's  College,  especially  delighted  me. 
This  is  fed  by  the  tributary  of  Winchester  school, 
itself  a  titular  college. 

Old  Exeter  was  undergoing   a  thorough  trans- 
formation, and  looks  astonished  at  her  own  youth- 
ful magnificence.     Her  new  chapel  rivals  the  an- 
cient glories  of  the  place,  especially  in  its  stone  and 
wood  carvings,    in  which  delicate  passion-flowers 
cut  in  oak,  wreathe  in  with  vine-leaves  and  lilies. 
Froude  the  historian  studied  at  Exeter,  and  there 
caught  the  new  impulse  for  historical  studies  which 
Dr.  Arnold  introduced  from  Germany.     The  beau- 
tiful soaring  spire  of  St.  Mary's  Church,  a  majestic 
wedge,  so  strong  and  yet  so  light,  and  the  square 
and   pinnacled  tower   of  Magdalen   College,  upon 
which  the  Latin  anthem  is  sung  every  May  -  Day 
morn,  form  the  striking  landmarks  of  Oxford,  seen 
far  over  the  flat  meadows. 

One  is  tempted  to  lay  irreverent  hand  upon  the 
smooth-w  >rn  monster  brass  nose  of  the  gate  of 
Brasenose  College.  It  is  said,  however,  that  the 
name  of  the  college  has  nothing  to  do  with  "  Brass,'' 
Vat  -vas  derived  from  "  Brasin-hous,''  the  ancient 


THE  UNIVERSITIES.  291 

name  of  "  Brew  house."  Bishop  Heber  was  a  stu- 
dent of  this  college. 

Most  appropriately  has  this  college  honored  the 
memory  of  another  of  her  noblest  sons,  Frederick 
W.  Robertson,  with  a  memorial  window  in  the 
chapel,  surmounted  by  the  inscription  on  a  scroll 
"  Te  Deum  laudat  prophetarum  laudabilis  nume- 
rus."  By  his  splendid  powers  that  burned  out 
with  their  own  energy  so  quickly,  and  by  his 
thoughts  that  seem  to  enter  into  the  very  shekinah 
of  spiritual  Truth,  he  has  lighted  the  dark  and 
struggling  way  of  thousands.  The  true  life  which 
he  lived,  the  great  "  fight  of  faith  "  which  he  waged, 
reflect  back  a  purer  glory  on  his  college,  than  if  he 
had  fallen  (as  he  sometimes  wished  to  do)  in  the 
trenches  before  Sebastopol,  or  had  won  the  fame  of 
the  first  scholar  on  earth.  In  these  walls  he  con- 
secrated his  early  manhood  to  Christ ;  and  it  was 
all  his  life  his  constant  thought  and  prayer  how  he 
might  aid  young  men,  especially  educated  young 
men,  in  their  conflicts  and  doubts  to  come  to  the 
same  Master,  and  find  in  him  a  higher  hVht  than 
that  of  learning  —  "  to  begin  in  youth  to  say  with 
David,  O  God,  thou  art  my  God,  early  will  I  seek 
thee." 

Oriel,  Dr.  Arnold's  college,  is  the  most  battered 
and  worn-looking  of  all  the  University  buildings, 
tvhich,  taken  together,  form  a  kind  of  monumental 
history  of  England,  exhibiting  all  its  great  historic 
epochs.  The  sombre  Influence  even  of  Spain  may 
oe  charly  traced  in  their  architecture. 


292  OLD  ENGLAND. 

Queen's  College,  where  the  "  boar's  nead "  it 
served  up  on  Christmas  in  memory  of  the  legend 
of  the  student's  escape  by  thrusting  a  volume  of 
Aristotle  down  a  wild  boar's  throat,  has  so  fine  a 
front  on  High  Street  that  its  modern  style  may  be 
pardoned.  Henry  V.  was  once  a  scholar  of  this 
college. 

But  there  is  nothing  in  Oxford  which,  taken  as 
a  whole,  quite  equals  Christ  Church,  at  the  termi- 
nation of  High  Street,  for  the  number  of  members 
upon  its  foundation,  its  great  names,  its  "  quads," 
and  its  famous  "  Hall,"  one  hundred  and  fifteen 
feet  by  forty.  This  college,  built  by  Cardinal 
Wolsey  on  the  scale  of  his  own  magnificence,  is 
par  eminence  the  noblemen's  college.  These  tufted 
gentlemen  occupy  at  meal-time  a  raised  platform 
by  themselves  —  something  which  our  republican 
taste  could  never  brook,  and  which  I  have  seen 
criticised  in  English  papers.  To  spend  a  sum- 
mer's afternoon  sauntering  along  the  broad  walk 
of  Christ  Church,  looking  out  upon  the  great 
smooth  meadows  and  shining  Cherwell  on  one  side, 
and  beautiful  Merton  College,  with  its  masses  of 
splendid  trees  and  gardens  on  the  other,  with  now 
and  then  the  deep  tones  of  the  big  bell  in  "  Tom 
Tower  "  filling  the  air  with  solemn  sound,  Oxford 
would  seem  to  be  a  place  in  which  to  forget  the 
present,  to  lose  the  future,  and  to  walk  and  muse 
ife  away  in  the  dim  cloisters  of  the  past.  Before 
leaving  Christ  Church  it  were  well  to  remembef 
that  that  great  and  holy  man,  William  Tyndale 


THE  UXIVERSITIES.  2^8 

leas  educated  at  Oxford,  and  was  a  poor  obscure 
sanon  of  Christ  Church  while  yet  in  its  infancy. 
Here  he  conceived  the  plan  of  printing  an  English 
translation  of  the  Bible,  and  in  conversation  with 
his  fellow-priests  who  derided  the  idea,  he  said : 
"  If  God  spare  me,  before  many  years  I  will  cause 
a  boy  that  driveth  a  plow  to  know  more  of  the 
Scriptures  than  you  do."  And  this  leads  me  to 
speak  of  a  still  nobler  spot  in  Oxford,  in  comparison 
with  which  these  academic  buildings,  with  their 
thickly  clustering  associations  of  wisdom  and  learn- 
ing sink  into  insignificance  —  I  mean  "  The  Mar- 
tyrs' Memorial,"  erected  near  the  spot  where  the 
three  chief  martyrs  of  the  Reformation,  Cranmer, 
Ridley,  and  Latimer,  suffered.  This  beautiful 
monument  marks,  as  it  were,  the  spiritual  centre 
of  England.  Such  spots  as  these  —  the  "  Martyrs' 
Tree  "  at  Brentwood,  the  place  where  Hooper  was 
burned  at  Gloucester,  and  Smithfield  Market  — 
make  England  holy  ground.  He  who  can  read 
the  account  of  those  martyrdoms,  especially  in 
the  fresh  language  of  Fronde,  and  not  have  his 
faith  quickened  and  his  heart  tilled  with  high  emo- 
tion, has  no  English  blood  in  his  veins  or  Christian 
feeling  in  his  soul.  Through  the  deathless  con- 
stancy of  these  men,  we  in  America  enjoy  a  pure 
faith  and  read  a  free  Bible.  They  but  testified 
fo,  they  sealed  with  their  blood,  the  faith  which 
already  lived  and  burned  i.i  the  hearts  of  the  com- 
jnon  people  of  England.  They  were  upheld  hy 
'•he  encouraging  words  and  prayers  of  the  common 


294  OLD  ENGLAND. 

people  as  they  went  to  the  stake.  They  fought 
the  battle  of  spiritual  liberty  for  the  English  people, 
and  for  us  who  now  live,  and  for  all  men. 

My  first  impression  of  Oxford  still  remains,  that 
it  is  the  palace  of  the  scholar  —  his  paradise  of 
literary  rest,  his  final  reward  —  rather  than  a  place 
to  make  vigorous  scholars  and  workingmen.  Yet 
somehow  or  other  England's  great  men  have  been 
educated  here,  and  I  have  been  struck  by  a  remark 
in  the  "  London  Quarterly,"  drawing  a  comparison 
between  a  young  man  brought  up  at  foreign  uni- 
versities and  an  English  educated  youth :  "  At  the 
moment  they  have  left  their  respective  places  of 
education,  the  young  Englishman  has  little  to  show 
for  his  time  and  money,  while  the  foreign  young 
man  is  full  of  information  and  accomplishment. 
But  in  ten  or  twelve  years  the  tables  are  turned. 
The  foreign  university  man  is  still  *  a  lad  in  mind, 
and  a  babbler  on  the  surface  of  every  subject.' 
The  Englishman  has  gone  into  the  business  of  life 
with  a  mind  so  trained  that  he  grasps  at  will  the 
necessary  knowledge  of  the  subject  before  him." 
There  must  be  something  in  English  education, 
with  its  everlasting  drill  in  Latin  and  Greek  com- 
position,  and  its  hard  metaphysics  and  logic,  which, 
after  all,  develops  and  toughens  the  mental  facul- 
ties. It  may  be  narrower  in  range  than  the  Ameri- 
can course  of  study,  but  it  nevertheless  "  educates," 
driws  out  the  intellectual  powers,  and  gives  them 
Mjnly  grip  and  force.  It  teaches  men  to  think 
;\<sely  and  write  well.     But  it  is  said  that  in  as 


THE   UNIVERSITIES.  295 

Oxford  education  there  is  a  want  of  definite  aim  and 
earnest  principle.  Besides  Greek  literature  and 
English  metaphysics,  and  now  perhaps,  since  Dr. 
Arnold's  time,  the  study  of  history,  in  the  whole 
range  of  liberal  studies  which  makes  a  man  skillful 
in  the  business  of  life  —  especially  the  departments 
of  physical  science  and  modern  languages  —  there 
is  still  a  confessed  deficiency  at  Oxford.  Aristotle 
still  rules.  The  physical  sciences  and  modern 
languages  have  obtained  no  real  recognition  or 
solid  respectable  foothold  at  Oxford  ;  and  the  same, 
with  some  modification,  might  be  said  of  Cam- 
bridge. Many  old-fashioned  ideas  prevent  a  more 
enlarged  and  practical  course  of  study.  The  study 
of  divinity,  for  example,  which  is  above  all  others 
a  branch  fitted  for  maturer  years  and  for  a  profes- 
sional course,  is  pursued  by  academical  students 
with  no  particular  religious  aim  or  preparation  of 
spirit,  and  only  to  a  superficial  extent  at  best.  Yet 
custom  compels  the  reading  of  so  much  of  Church 
history  and  theology,  in  which  there  is,  after  all, 
very  little  personal  interest  evoked.  It  is  a  system 
of  getting  themselves  up  for  examinations,  in  which 
all  the  ingenuity  and  efforts  of  young  men  are  con- 
centrated to  pass  a  critical  goal,  and  to  make  the 
show,  if  they  have  not  the  reality,  of  thorough 
scholarship.  The  real  hard  study  at  Oxford,  we 
have  the  impression,  is  mostly  done  by  the  young 
men  who  are  striving  for  scholarships  and  univer- 
sity prizes.  These  are  tempting  baits.  They  confer 
»ven  literary  and   political  distinction  ;  and  som» 


296  OLD  ENGLAND. 

of  them  amount  to  a  substantial  life-income,  —  say 
from  £200  to  £400,  —  so  that  it  is  a  university 
Baying  that  "  a  high  degree  man  supports  himself 
and  his  mother  and  sisters."  To  obtain  these 
prizes  there  must  be  excessively  hard  study.  Men 
are  trained  for  these  mental  contests  with  the  pain- 
ful care  and  minute  attention  of  physical  athletes. 
They  are  reduced  to  a  state  of  pure  intellectual 
working  activity,  and  then  "  crammed  "  with  the 
express  juices  of  the  rarest  scholarship.  As  the 
"  lecture "  is  the  vital  principle  of  the  German 
university  system,  and  the  "  recitation  "  of  the 
American,  so,  although  there  are  professional  lec- 
tures and  recitations,  "  private  tutorage  "  is  the 
chief  characteristic  of  the  English  university  meth- 
od of  study.  This  of  course  adds  greatly  to  the 
expenses  of  student  life,  but  has  its  advantages.  It 
might  perhaps  be  introduced  to  a  certain  extent 
into  our  American  college  system,  thus  aiding  the 
support  of  worthy  scholars,  and  smoothing  real 
difficulties  in  the  path  of  the  learner  himself.  For 
a  young  student  to  have  the  continual  assistance 
of  a  highly  scholarly  mind,  of  a  "  double-first  man  " 
for  instance,  fresh  and  victorious  from  the  arduous 
conflict,  would  be  an  immense  aid  in  stimulating 
and  directing  his  energies,  although  in  manv  cases 
it  may  produce,  as  it  does,  intellectual  weakness 
and  enervation.  But  those  who  do  not  aim  at 
high  degrees  in  the  English  university,  may  escape 
with  comparatively  little  labor.  There  is  not  that 
iniform  and  steady  purpose  brought  to  bear  upos 


THE  UNIVERSITIES.  297 

the  whole  body  of  students  that  the  American  sys- 
tem of  daily  recitation  and  "  marking  "  for  stand 
produces.     While  the  tone   of   scholarship   among 
the  best  scholars  is  far   higher  than  with  us,  the 
general  standard  both  for  entering  and  continuing 
in  the  University  is,  according  to  the  late  "  Parlia- 
mentary Commissioners'  Report,"  very  imperfect. 
This    Report   says,    among    other    things :    "  The 
standard  of  the  matriculation  examination  varies  at 
different  colleges.     At  Christ  Church  a  candidate 
is  expected  to  construe   a  passage  (which  he  has 
read  before)  of  Virgil  and  another  of  Homer,  to 
write  a  bit  of  Latin  prose,  to  answer  some  simple 
grammatical  questions,   and   show  some    acquaint- 
ance with  arithmetic."     In  1862  one   third  failed 
even  to  pass  this  simple  test.    This  hardly  coincides 
with    Mr.   Bristed's    estimate  of   the    standard  of 
scholarship  at  the  English  schools.     He  says,  "  An 
Eton  boy  of  nineteen  is  two  years  in  advance  of  a 
Yale  or  Harvard  valedictorian  in  all  classical  knowl- 
edge,  and   in    all  classical  elegances  immeasurably 
ahead  of  him."     But  Mr.  Bristed,  though  he  has 
written  an  admirable  book,  had,  we  know,  a  sort 
of  chronic  prejudice  against  American  scholarship 
and  American  colleges.     Some  one   has   classified 
the  students  of  Oxford  into  —  1,  the  reading  men  ; 
2,  the  idle  slow  men  ;  3,  the  good  kind  of  fellows  ; 
4,  the  idle  fast  or  do-nothing  men  ;  5,  the  regular 
fast  men.     Nevertheless,  we  can  but  acknowledge 
the  superior  thoroughness   of  English  scholarship, 
ts  richer  culture,  and  more   permanent  and  sub- 


298  OLD  ENGLAND. 

Btantial  depth.  What  it  does  it  does  well.  Those 
who  are  scholars  are  genuine  scholars.  They  are 
inspired  with  a  true  love  of  sound  learning  which 
never  leaves  them. 

The  moral  tone  of  the  English  university  is  not 
so  high  as  that  of  our  American  colleges.  Infi- 
nitely more  money  is  spent  in  proportion  to  the 
number  of  students  for  horses,  sporting,  wine- 
suppers,  and  fast  living.  This  is  partly  accounted 
for  by  the  fact  that  as  a  general  thing  only  the 
wealthiest  class  of  young  men  can  be  educated  at 
the  two  great  universities,  (for  it  would  be  useless 
to  deny  what  they  themselves  glory  in,  that  they 
are  the  highest  expressions  of  the  aristocratic  prin- 
ciple in  English  society,)  and  partly  from  the 
simpler  tone  of  New  England  and  American  life. 
Drinking  and  other  vices  have  a  lamentably  free 
admission  into  these  centres  of  Old-World  civiliza- 
tion, where  London  itself  is  distant  but  an  hour 
und  twenty  minutes  by  rail.  It  were  surely  to  be 
hoped  that  the  young  men  of  our  American  col- 
leges will  strive  to  compete  with  those  of  Oxford 
and  Cambridge  and  of  the  German  Universities, 
not  in  their  deplorable  rowdyism  and  their  ability 
to  drink  eighty  '  schoppen '  of  beer  apiece,  but  in 
their  true  English  manliness  and  muscle,  and  their 
high  German  ideals  of  brotherhood  and  broad  in- 
dependent culture. 

There  is  one  admirable  feature  that  we  might 
learn  from  the  English  university  —  its  delightfully 
genial  and  social  spirit.     This  is  nourished  by  th« 


THE   UNIVERSITIES.  299 

intimate  family  life  of  each  particular  college,  hav- 
ing its  own  common  table,  home  customs,  and 
traditions.  This  sentiment  of  profound  college 
esprit  de  corps  never  wears  away,  and  results  in 
friendships  of  the  most  tender,  noble,  and  lasting 
kind.  The  Englishman's  capacity  for  friendship, 
with  all  his  crustaceous  pride  of  temper,  is,  I  have 
sometimes  thought,  greater  than  an  American's  ; 
and  why  greater  ?  Not  from  any  greater  depth  of 
soul,  but  because  the  boy  is  kept  fresh  in  him  by 
the  constant  cultivation  of  early  associations,  and 
especially  by  the  sympathies  and  memories  of  col- 
lege days.  There  is  far  more  poetry  in  English  col- 
lege-life than  in  ours.  It  is  not  so  matter-of-fact. 
The  continual  association  with  what  is  venerable  in 
the  past  and  beautiful  in  Art  and  Nature,  educates 
the  heart  as  well  as  the  intellect,  and  the  whole 
man  is  rounded  into  nobler  proportions.  The 
"  humanistic  "  element  in  education,  as  Mr.  Glad- 
stone calls  it,  is  more  thoroughly  cultivated  than 
with  us.  There  certainly  should  be  in  every  en- 
lightened land  those  profound  and  tranquil  springs 
of  learning,  removed  aside  from  the  pathway  of 
traffic  and  the  disturbing  influences  of  a  selfish, 
superficial,  and  money-making  world  ;  where  the 
most  noble  and  generous  susceptibilities  of  the  na- 
ture are  developed ;  where  youth  may  have  its 
intellectual  and  spiritual  ideals  raised  above  the 
standards  and  successes  of  ordinary  practical  life. 
Then,  when  youth  comes  dowp  into  the  world's 
agitated  current,  it  will  ride  upon  it  strongly  and 


300  OLD  ENGLAND. 

safely,  for  it  lias  an  inward  strength  that  is  superior 
to  the  world. 

I  need  not  spend  time  in  speaking  of  the  out- 
ward organization  and  government  of  the  English 
university.  Being  almost  entirely  aristocratic,  or 
more  properly,  oligarchical,  it  does  not  possess  the 
organic  unity  of  an  American  or  even  German 
university.     It   is    a   collection    of   different  inde- 

it 

pendent  colleges,  each  absolute  in  its  own  domin- 
ions, having  its  own  laws,  existing  by  its  own  funds, 
and  extremely  jealous  of  the  least  infringement  of 
its  rights  by  the  general  government.  Originally 
an  ecclesiastical  school  attached  to  some  religious 
house,  each  college  still  retains  something  of  its 
exclusive  monkish  spirit,  which  stands  in  the  way 
of  very  great  unity  of  governmental  discipline,  and 
perhaps  of  rapid  general  improvement. 

The  full  title  of  Cambridge  College  is,  "  The 
Chancellor,  Masters,  and  Scholars  of  the  Univer- 
sity of  Cambridge." 1  These  form  the  general 
government,  concentrated  in  the  higher  assembly, 
which  is  thus  composed :  "  All  persons  who  are 
masters  of  arts  or  doctors  in  one  or  other  of  the 
three  faculties,  viz.,  divinity,  civil  law,  or  physic, 
having  their  names  upon  the  college  boards,  hold- 
ing any  university  office,  or  being  resident  in  the 
town  of  Cambridge,  have  votes  in  this  assembly." 
Besides  this  general  senate,  there  is  a  more  special 
council  chosen  yearly,  called  "  The  Caput,"  whicO 
approves  of  every  proposal  before  it  is  submitted  t« 

1  Le  Keux's  Memorials  of  Cambridge. 


THE  UNIVERSITIES.  301 

the  senate.  "  The  Caput  consists  of  the  vice- 
chancellor,  a  doctor  in  each  of  the  faculties,  two 
masters  of  arts,  and  other  subordinate  members, 
nominated  by  the  vice-chancellor."  The  meeting 
of  the  senate  is  held  about  once  a  fortnight,  the 
quorum  being  forty  members  at  its  first  session, 
and  twenty-four  at  its  second.  If  a  motion  pass 
the  two  houses  of  the  senate  (called  regents  and 
non-regents)  it  becomes  a  law.  Each  degree  which 
is  conferred  undergoes  the  scrutiny  of  the  senate. 
The  strictly  executive  authority  consists  of  a  Chan- 
cellor, who  is  the  representative  head  of  the  uni- 
versity, and  who  has  authority  for  a  mile  around 
the  town,  excepting  in  cases  of  mayhem  and  fel- 
ony ;  a  high  steward,  who  has  power  to  try  cases 
of  felony  ;  a  vice-chancellor,  elected  annually  by 
the  senate,  who  does  the  Chancellor's  duty  in  his 
absence,  and  who  is  to  all  intents  and  purposes  the 
acting  head  of  the  university,  taking  the  place  of 
our  president ;  a  commissary ;  public  orator ;  as- 
sessor ;  two  proctors ;  and  other  minor  administra- 
tive officers.  There  are  two  courts  of  law  to  try 
all  cases  (excepting  those  of  mayhem  and  felony) 
having  relation  to  any  member  of  the  university  ; 
which  courts  are  conducted  upon  the  common  prin- 
ciples and  forms  of  civil  law.  The  two  members 
of  Parliament  from  Cambridge  are  chosen  by  the 
senate.  The  professors'  salaries  are  drawn  from 
varied  sources  and  from  very  ancient  and  quaint 
"uandatiom  ,  some  of  tnem  come  directly  from  the 
-evenue  of  the  English  government. 


£02  OLD  ENGLAND. 

Perhaps  the  grand  distinguishing  feature  of  the 
English  college,  which,  above  all  others,  makes  it 
differ  from  the  German  and  American  college,  is 
what  has  been  already  alluded  to,  its  system  of 
"  Fellowships."  The  college  exists,  above  all,  for 
the  benefit  of  its  "  Fellows,"  who  enjoy  its  literary 
and  social  advantages  to  the  utmost.  From  this 
body,  continually  replenished  by  the  best  scholars 
of  the  University,  the  lecturers,  professors,  and  offi- 
cers are  drawn.  They  are  in  fact  the  permanent 
nucleus,  "  the  pillar  and  ground  "  of  the  university 
organization.  They  represent  and  control  it.  The 
students  seem  to  come  in  as  a  secondary  and  neces- 
sarv  class,  or  as  forming  the  material  out  of  which 
"  Fellows  "  are  made  and  supported. 

This  system,  monastic  in  its  origin,  and  monastic, 
until  very  recently,  in  its  condition  of  celibacy,  has 
its  evil  as  well  as  its  good,  even  as  it  relates  to  the 
"  Fellows  "  themselves.  It  brings  together,  it  is 
true,  a  body  of  highly  cultivated  men,  who  are 
constantly  increasing  their  mental  cultivation  and 
heaping  up  erudition.  But  the  tendency  is  for  them 
to  become  refined  and  critical,  instead  of  broad- 
minded  and  practical  scholars,  penetrated  with  the 
spirit  of  the  age,  and  having  living  sympathy  with 
living  men.  They  are  tempted  to  work  for  the 
reputation  of  their  college,  instead  of  the  highest 
good  of  the  multitude  of  young  minds  who  come 
tinder  their  shaping  influence.  They  do  not  also 
it  is  averred,  actually  produce  as  much  in  the  waj 
tf  original  scholarship  as  might  be  expected  fronc 


THE  UNIVERSITIES.  303 

well  splendid  opportunities.  Besides,  the  system 
which  sets  a  premium  upon  learning,  and  which 
makes  the  noblest  studies  the  means  and  measure 
of  pecuniary  reward,  cannot  be  considered  as 
founded  upon  the  broadest  idea  of  education.  The 
German  idea  is  in  the  main  superior  to  this.  These 
Fellowships,  since  they  may  be  held  for  a  certain 
time  without  residence  at  the  University,  are,  I 
have  seen  it  stated,  sought  for  with  great  avidity  by 
those  who  expect  to  become  lawyers,  physicians, 
and  clergymen,  and  who  do  not  intend  to  connect 
their  lives  permanently  with  the  University ;  in 
this  way  they  are  afforded  support  and  a  certain 
standing,  as  it  were,  in  the  transition  period  before 
they  are  well  able  to  stand  by  their  own  strength 
and  efforts.  The  temptation  in  such  a  case  would 
seem  to  be,  to  retain  as  long  as  possible  that  sup- 
port and  stimulus,  whether  of  a  moral  or  pecuniary 
nature,  which  is  so  much  needed  at  the  very  outset 
of  a  professional  life. 

Therefore,  while  we  honor  and  reverence  these 
glorious  old  universities,  the  parents  of  our  own 
colleges,  the  nurses  of  English  learning  and  letters, 
we  would  not  copy  them  too  closely,  nor  would  we 
hastily  pronounce  upon  the  inferiority  of  our  own 
systems  of  education  for  our  own  peculiar  wrants 
and  civilization.  While  the  German  university  is 
somewhat  too  advanced,  learned,  and  professional 
"or  our  present  needs,  the  English  university  is  in 
lome  respects  too  exclusively  national,  stiff,  and 
unpractical  for  our  imitation.     We  can  learn  much 


304  OLD  ENGLAND. 

from  both  ;  and  so  long  as  we  have  before  us  such 
living  representatives  of  English  university  educa- 
tion as  Gladstone,  Goldwin  Smith,  Trench,  Stan- 
ley, Froude,  Kingsley,  Ruskin,  Lord  Derby,  Ten- 
nyson, we  must  feel  that  there  is  something  in  it 
whose  depth  we  have  not  comprehended,  and  which 
draws  from  sources  of  life  and  power  that  are  un 
Been. 


CHAPTER  XVIL 

LONDON   TO    FOLKESTONE. 

The  Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  in  a  playfo, 
mood,  is  said  to  have  sent  a  message  to  Miss 
Marsh,  the  authoress  of  "  The  Life  of  Headley 
Vicars,"  asking  her  "  when  and  by  whom  she  had 
taken  orders  ?  ':  I  wished  to  see  this  truly  Chris- 
tian woman,  and  the  barn  where  she  preached  to 
the  poor.  Seven  or  eight  miles  to  the  south  of 
London,  leaving  Sydenham  and  the  Crystal  Palace 
a  little  to  the  west,  is  Beckenham,  a  common  coun- 
try English  village,  pretty  enough  as  that  part  of 
Surrey  County  is,  but  in  no  way  remarkable. 
Walking  past  the  inn,  and  the  butcher's  shop,  and 
the  baker's,  and  the  blacksmith's,  I  did  indeed  at 
last  come  to  the  barn  standing  in  the  meadows, 
where  Miss  Marsh  collects  her  motley  audience  of 
del  vers  and  ditchers.  Her  own  residence  is  at  the 
other  end  of  the  village,  in  a  pleasant  mansion  set 
back  a  little  from  the  road,  with  many  fine  old 
trees  and  a  smooth  lawn  about  it.  Before  I  saw 
Miss  Marsh  I  visited  tne  village  church,  where 
there  is  a  monument  recently  erected  to  the  mem- 
dry  of  Captain  Vicars.  It  is  neatly  designed,  with 
tne   ornament   of  a  carved   sword,   sash-knot   and 


B06  OLD  EXGI.AND. 

scroll.  This  is  one  expression  in  the  epitaph : 
"  He  fell  in  battle,  and  '  slept  in  Jesus  '  on  the 
night  of  the  22d  of  March,  1855,  and  was  buried 
before  Sebastopol." 

Miss  Marsh,  as  she  entered  the  parlor  with  a 
quiet  step  and  a  pleasant  greeting,  impressed  me 
with  her  dignity  and  winning  feminine  kindliness. 
In  personal  appearance  she  is  commanding  and 
handsome,  and  she  dresses  with  exceedingly  good 
taste.  She  does  not  neglect  this  means  of  persona! 
influence  with  the  poor  and  humble.  I  can  well 
conceive  how  the  rough  "  navvies  "  might  be  quite 
carried  away  with  her  ;  for  there  is  nothing  in  her 
looks  or  conversation  that  bespeaks  the  straight- 
laced  religionist,  but  rather  the  noble  and  accom- 
plished Christian  lady. 

I  do  not  feel  at  liberty  to  trespass  further  in  de- 
scribing the  frank  courtesy  which  took  me  immedi- 
ately into  the  family  circle,  nor  the  very  pleasant 
hour  I  spent,  especially  in  conversation  with  her 
father  Dr.  Marsh,  whose  venei'able  face  might 
be  truly  called  "a  perpetual  benediction."  The 
widow  of  one  whom  she  had  befriended  was  mak- 
ing a  visit  in  Beckenham  at  the  same  time,  and 
she  was  put  under  my  escort  back  to  London.  She 
told  me  that  Miss  Marsh  was  a  true  friend,  and 
that  "when  she  once  became  interested  in  one's 
welfare,  she  never  left  that  pei-son  till  the  good  she 
strove  for  was  accomplished."  It  was  easy  enough 
to  see  where  her  power  lay.  It  is  in  her  perfect 
trust  —  her   great-souled    confidence  in  God  and 


LONDON  TO  FOLKESTONE.  307 

man.  She  believes  that  sympathy  shown  to  any 
human  being  will  meet  some  return,  and  will  afford 
some  standing-place,  some  opportunity  of  good. 
To  a  masculine  will  she  unites  a  true  woman's 
heart,  and  both  are  consecrated  to  the  work  of  edu- 
cating and  raising  up  the  forsaken  classes  of  society. 
She  leads  this  "  forlorn  hope "  with  a  cheerful 
courage  that  should  inspire  imitation.  She  is  the 
Florence  Nightingale  to  the  religious  wants  of  poor 
soldiers  and  seamen.  She  showed  me  the  method 
in  which  she  kept  the  accounts,  or  acted  as  Savings 
Bank,  for  hundreds  of  these  people.  These  two 
noble  women  were  the  ensamples  of  our  own 
American  and  Christian  Commission  ladies  during 
the  war,  and  they  are  only  worthy  of  more  honor, 
not  that  they  have  done  more,  but  because  they 
were  first  in  the  work. 

I  am  now  going  to  take  my  reader  a  little  fur- 
ther down  into  the  county  of  Hampshire,  or  Hants. 
With  a  letter  of  introduction  quite  unexpectedly 
put  in  my  hands  to  the  "  Rector  of  Eversley," 
which  offered  a  temptation  I  could  not  resist,  I 
Bought  out  on  the  map  of  the  county  the  point 
called  Eversley.  To  get  at  it  one  leaves  the 
railroad  at  the  Winchfield  Station,  on  the  South 
Western  Railway.  Here  I  hired  a  carriage  and 
drove  some  twelve  miles  over  the  sandy  moor- 
lands, skirting  around  the  village  of  Hartley  Wint- 
ney.  The  last  part  of  the  way  was  through  a  wil- 
derness of  blooming  heather.  It  was  one  sea  of 
Purple  flc  vers  as  far  as  the  eve  cculd  reach,  and 


808  OLD  ENGLAND. 

the  ride  through  it  was  exhilarating.  It  was,  if  I 
mistake  not,  the  common  "  ling  "  with  bell-shaped 
blossoms,  quite  fragrant,  and  the  delight  of  the 
honey-bee.  In  the  midst  of  this  purple  waste, 
down  in  a  little  hollow,  was  the  "  Rector  of  Evers- 
ley's  "  house  ;  and  near  by,  almost  in  the  garden, 
was  his  church  ;  and  they  formed  the  only  village 
that  I  could  see. 

Charles  Kingsley's  home  was  the  very  picture  of 
a  rural  parsonage,  or  poet's  dwelling,  away  from 
noise  and  men.  The  garden  and  lawn  were  orna- 
mental without  being  stiff,  and  the  windows  and 
walls  were  smothered  in  luxuriant  vines  and  roses. 
All  the  apartments  and  bow-windows  stood  open, 
and  there  seemed  to  be  a  free  communication  with 
out-door  Nature.  The  birds  might  sing  through 
and  in  the  house.  Unfortunately  the  master  of 
this  pleasant  house  was  away.  I  was  hospitably 
entertained  in  Mr.  Kingsley's  own  study,  which  was 
indeed  next  to  seeing  himself.  I  could  not  help 
glancing  around  the  room  —  might  I  say  "  den  "  ? 
Some  stalwart  old  folios  of  the  "  Fathers  "  looked 
like  the  rough  bark  out  of  which  the  honey  of 
"  Hypatia "  and  other  books  of  exquisite  flavor 
and  spiritual  richness  had  been  drawn.  There 
appeared  to  be  a  good  collection  of  historical  works, 
and  the  whole,  as  far  as  I  could  read  at  a  glance, 
formed  an  interesting  and  rare  library — just  the 
one  that  awakened  the  appetite  to  look  and  search 
further.  An  oak  fragment  of  one  of  the  ships  of 
tiie    Spanish    Armada    hung    over    the    fireplace, 


LONDON  TO  FOLKESTONE.  309 

Pipes  were  not  wanting  and  walking-sticks  —  but 
enough  of  this  raiding  upon  a  man's  private  domin- 
ions in  his  absence  ! 

Kingsley  was  then  what  may  be  called  a  young 
man,  as  were  indeed  many  of  those  living  authors 
such  as  Ruskin  and  Matthew  Arnold,  who  have 
breathed  new  freedom  and  power  into  English  lit- 
erature. He  was  born  at  Holne  Vicarage  on  the 
borders  of  Dartmoor  in  Devonshire,  and  was  at 
one  time  a  pupil  of  Derwent  Coleridge.  The  spirit 
of  freedom  has  long  lived  in  his  family.  The 
Kingsleys  of  Cheshire  were  noted  for  their  fidelity 
to  the  Parliament  in  the  civil  wars,  and  one  branch 
of  the  family  emigrated  to  America,  from  whom 
the  late  Professor  Kingsley,  of  Yale  College,  was  a 
descendant.  A  relative  of  Froude  the  historian, 
he  perhaps  thereby  was  brought  into  contact 
with  the  new  and  independent  ideas  of  English 
History,  of  which  he  forms  as  it  were  the  prophet 
or  poet.  And  whatever  may  be  thought  by  some 
of  his  theological  short- comings,  as  the  ardent 
champion  of  his  friend  Maurice,  he  has  vigorously 
striven  to  carry  Christianity  into  practical  life,  and 
to  infuse  its  higher  spirit  into  the  very  framework 
of  society.  He  has  advocated  a  religion  which 
has  warm  blood  in  it,  and  can  feel,  think,  run, 
and  work.  He  considered  religion,  in  the  words 
of  an  old  English  divine,  as  "the  seed  of  a  deified 
nature."  I  truly  believe  that  he  was  never  faith- 
less to  his  principles,  as  some  of  his  latest  utter- 
ances awakened  the  fear  of  his  being.     He  must 


310  OLD   ENGLAND. 

have  denied  himself  in  an  unscrupulous  and  bad 
sense  to  become  a  defender  of  injustice,  or  of  power 
against  the  poor.  If  he  did  this,  notwithstanding 
a  great  enthusiasm  for  him,  he  may  go  to  the  shades 
where,  alas  !  many  dead  heroes  have  gone  before 
him.  This  is  indeed  a  small  threat  as  far  as  my- 
self am  concerned,  but,  if  I  mistake  not,  it  would 
also  be  the  united  judgment  of  an  American  pub- 
lic opinion  which  has  always  passionately  honored 
and  loved  Kingsley,  and  the  entire  loss  of  whose 
favor,  which  has  been  called  an  English  author's 
verdict  of  posterity,  no  man  living,  be  he  ever  so 
great,  can  well  afford  to  suffer. 

I  went  into  the  plain,  old-fashioned  church  where 
Mr.  Kingsley  then  ministered  to  his  humble  congre- 
gation. A  young  relative  of  his  told  me  that  his 
congregation  was  chiefly  composed  of  laboring  peo- 
ple, "  clod-hoppers,"  as  he  called  them.  "But,"  he 
added,  "he  manages  to  interest  them  wonderfullv." 
He  said  that  young  officers  from  the  camp  of  Al- 
•lershott,  a  few  miles  distant,  were  in  the  habit  of 
riding  over  to  hear  Mr.  Kingsley.  They  probably 
recognized  the  true  fighter  in  him  —  the  true  "  sol- 
dier-priest." 

To  turn  to  another  topic.  The  people  of  Europe 
may  be  divided  into  two  classes,  those  who  drink 
wine,  and  those  who  drink  beer.  The  Englishman 
vies  with  the  German  in  his  insatiable  love  of  beer 
Its  small  fountains  are  spouting  night  and  day  in 
town  and  country.  Our  friend  Gough  thought  that 
they  are  fountains  of  unadulterated  evil,  but  that 


LONDON  TO   FOLKESTONE.  311 

Englishman  is  poor  indeed  who  cannot  have  his 
muc  of  ale  at  dinner.  Three  fine  counties,  Kent, 
Sussex,  and  Surrey,  are  almost  entirely  devoted  to 
the  raising  of  hops.  In  Nottingham  hops  are  also 
grown,  hut  they  are  of  a  weaker  flavor.  There  is 
no  prettier  sight  than  an  English  hop-garden  with 
its  festooned  and  flowing  vines,  its  narrow  lanes, 
and  checkered  lights.  It  is  far  more  beautiful  than 
a  cropped  vineyard  of  France  or  Germany.  And 
the  numberless  little  neat  white  drying-houses  with 
their  red-tiled  pointed  towers,  and  crane-like 
wooden  flues  or  chimneys  for  carrying  off  the  reek 
of  the  hops,  are  not  unpicturesque.  The  drying 
process  lasts  from  eight  to  ten  hours.  Fuel  that  is 
smokeless  or  nearly  so  must  be  used.  The  pick- 
ing commences  when  the  flower  is  of  a  straw-color 
turning  to  brown.  During  the  hop  harvest  in 
September  there  is  a  merry  time  throughout  the 
length  and  breadth  of  these  counties.  It  is  sober 
England  turned  stroller  and  gypsy.  Men,  women, 
and  children,  beggars,  strangers,  Irishmen,  Scotch- 
men, Welchmen,  and  poor  London  people,  stream 
into  the  hop  districts  and  gather  the  harvest,  sleep- 
ing mostly  out  on  the  fields  in  tents.  But  the  hop 
is  the  most  precarious  of  crops,  and  fortunes  are 
annually  lost  and  won  in  its  delicate  speculations. 
The  very  abundance  of  the  harvest  sometimes  de- 
itroys  its  value  ;  the  duty  upon  hops  is  extremely 
heavy,  and  as  the  hop  raisers  declare,  very  unjust. 
It  is  laid  upon  the  amount  produced,  instead  of  by 
rhe  acre  or  ad  valorem;   so  that  the  producer  in 


VjJ 


312  OLD  ENGLAND. 

one  county  may  raise  more  and  get  less,  than  one 
in  another  county  who  raises  less  in  quantity  but 
better  in  quality.  The  total  number  of  acres  under 
the  cultivation  of  hops  is  said  to  be  not  far  from 
fifty  thousand,  the  region  of  Rochester  raising  the 
largest  crop,  and  that  of  Canterbury  the  next 
largest.  The  queen  of  the  hop-rearing  districts 
and  the  royal  city  of  Kent,  is  Canterbury,  fifty-six 
miles  from  London  and  seven  from  the  sea-shore. 
It  is  a  place  now  of  some  15,000  inhabitants.  Its 
Saxon  name  was  Cantwarabyrig,  or  "  city  of  the 
men  of  Kent."  It  is  said  to  be  older  than  Rome, 
and  at  the  time  of  the  Conquest  it  contained  more 
inhabitants  than  London.  Truly  a  fair  sight  it  is, 
lying  "  compact  together  "  in  the  vale  of  the  Stour, 
with  a  circle  of  picturesque  windmills  standing 
around  it  on  the  low  hills,  and  engirt  by  its  hop 
gardens  and  trees,  its  antique  buildings,  and  the 
cathedral  rising  from  its  bosom  like  a  very  "  city  of 
God."  It  is  an  English  Damascus  for  situation. 
What  multitudes  of  pilgrims  once  poured  into  it  to 
visit  the  shrine  of  a  Becket !  There  was  the  seat 
of  the  missionary  operations  of  Augustine,  the 
Apostle  of  England.  "  Watling  Street "  of  the 
Romans  which  traversed  England,  the  English 
Appian  Way,  ran  through  Canterbury,  and  here 
still  retains  its  ancient  name.  But  one  of  the  old 
gates  of  Canterbury,  that  called  "  Westgate,"  re- 
mains standing  by  the  puny  black  stream  of  the 
Stour,  and  forms  a  narrow  arched  entrance  be- 
tween   two    formidable    and    battlemented    rounc 


LONDON   TO    FOLKESTONE.  313 

towers,  reminding  one  of  Hotspur's  gate  at  Aln- 
wick. In  the  little  lane  called  "  Le  Mercerie," 
leadvng  up  to  the  Cathedral  from  High  Street,  vvaa 
situated  the  ancient  "  hostelrie  "  where  the  Canter- 
bury pilgrims  rested  and  refreshed  themselves. 

The  Cathedral  is  a  gray  pile,  with  an  elegant 
central  tower  called  "  The  Angel  Tower,"  two 
hundred  and  eighty-five  feet  high  ;  the  porch  is  an 
exquisite  specimen  of  the  Perpendicular  Style,  and 
over  its  door  was  formerly  carved  the  scene  of 
Thomas  a  Becket's  assassination.  The  spot  where 
this  event  occurred  was  in  the  north  cross  aisle  at 
the  end  of  the  nave,  and  this  part  of  the  church 
bears  the  name  of  "  The  Martyrdom."  The  im- 
perious prelate  died  with  dignity,  — 

"  darkening  with  his  blood 
The  monument  of  holy  Theobald."  1 

The  day  of  his  death,  the  29th  of  December,  1170, 
was  long  held  sacred  by  the  Papal  Church  in  Eng- 
land. His  shrine  in  Trinity  Chapel  behind  the 
screen  of  the  high  altar,  which  became  from  the 
gifts  of  innumerable  pilgrims  one  of  the  richest  in 
the  world,  has  been  removed  for  centuries,  but  the 
stone  steps  which  ascended  to  it,  worn  deep  by  the 
eet  of  myriad  votaries,  are  still  to  be  seen.  One  is 
also  shown  the  snot  from  which  a  small  square 
niece  of  stone  stained  with  Becket's  blood  was  cut 
*ut  and  sent  to  Rome.  The  penance  and  flagella- 
Son  of  the  haughty  Henry  II.,  showing  the  powei 

i  Thomas  a  Beckel  —  a  Tragj&y  by  G   H.  Hollister. 


314  OLD  ENGLAND. 

of  Rorm  at  that  age,  took  place  in  the  "  Chapter* 
house  "  of  the  Cathedral. 

From  the  fact,  perhaps,  that  Edward  the  Black 
Prince  was  buried  in  this   church,  it  has  become 
•m  English  "  Valhalla  "  or  "  Temple  of  Heroes." 
The  tomb  of  the  hero  is  in  an  excellent  state  of 
preservation.     The   bronze    effigy   of  the    Prince, 
once  highly  gilded  and  of  fine  workmanship,  repre- 
sents him   as  a  young   man   of  graceful  form  and 
regular,  even  delicate  features.     The  helm,  shield, 
surcoat,  and  gauntlets  that  he  wore  on  the  field  of 
Cressy,  are  suspended  over  the  tomb.     The  helm 
is  surmounted  by  a  bronze  lion,  with   stiff  brand 
ished  tail  and  open  mouth.     One  of  the  old  chron- 
iclers of  England  wrote  thus  in  his  quaint  way  of 
the  death  of  the  Black  Prince  :  "  His   deth   bare 
awey  with    it    all    the    sikernes   (security)   of  the 
land."     There  are  also  modern  monuments  to  Eng- 
lish soldiers  slain  in  Holland,  Belgium,   Portugal, 
Spain,  India,  and  the  fights  at  Moodkee,  Sobraon, 
and  Aliwal.     The  church  is  hung  with  torn  flags 
that  have  passed  through  the  fierce  fires  of  Eng- 
land's battles.     In  the  undercroft  of  the  Cathedral 
a  small  remnant  of  the  ancient  church  of  French 
Walloons,  driven  away  by  persecution  from  their 
uitive  land  in  Elizabeth's  reign,  still  worship.     This 
ubterranean  chapel  was  granted  to  them  by  Eliza- 
beth as  a  place  of  worship.     They  continued  to  be 
silk  weavers,  and  in  the  time  of  Charles  II.  were 
thu  most  important  silk  manufacturers  in  England 
This    Cathedral    is    an    exhaustless   mine    foi    th« 


LONDON  TO  FOLKESTONE.  315 

architectural  student,  as  it  was  the  royal  shrine  of 
English  faith  for  so  many  centuries,  and  was  orna- 
mented, added  to,  and  enriched  by  so  many  kings, 
whether  moved  to  do  so  by  piety  or  remorse.  King 
Edward  I.  and  Margaret  were  married  in  1299  at 
the  altar  of  the  "  Martyrdom."  Edward  the  Black 
Prince  died  in  the  Archiepiscopal  house  in  Palace 
Street  near  by.  Fragments  of  history  of  every 
age  crop  out,  from  the  deep  and  extensive  crypt 
whose  foundations  were  laid  in  Saxon  times,  to  the 
new  windows  that  are  the  production  of  the  latest 
modern  English  Art.  The  bit  of  Norman  staircase, 
with  four  heavy  pillars,  round-headed  arches  with 
the  chevron  ornament,  and  an  open  arcade  at  the 
northwest  angle  of  the  Priory,  is  an  extremely 
interesting  feature  of  the  past.  The  armed  feet 
of  the  warlike  Edward  III.  and  of  the  "  Black 
Prince  "  might  often  have  trodden  it,  and  it  looks 
now,  with  its  ponderous  columns  and  angles,  in 
perfect  keeping  with  those  dark  and  mail-clad 
forms. 

A  Missionary  College  has  been  founded  upon  the 
Bite  of  the  Abbey  and  the  residence  of  Augustine, 
and  has  incorporated  within  its  buildings  some  parts 
of  the  old  edifice,  especially  two  gateways,  and  a 
fine  old  arch.  The  ancient  work  is  mostly  of  flint 
rubble,  which  is  a  kind  of  building  material  now 
extensively  used  all  along  through  the  chalk  dis- 
tricts. This  was  the  "  Augustine  "  sent  by  Pope 
Gregory,  of  whom  the  familiar  story  of  seeing  the 
English  youth  in  tne  slave-market  of  Rome  ig 
told. 


316  OLD  ENGLAND. 

A  purer  Christianity  had  been  sown  in  Englana 
long  before,  and  had  its  precarious  abode  among 
the  mountains  of  Wales  and  along  the  western 
shores  of  the  island  ;  but  Augustine,  partly  by 
persuasion  and  partly  by  force,  succeeded  in  bring- 
ing all  under  his  spiritual  sway,  and  by  degrees 
also  won  over  the  warlike  Saxon  kings  and  their 
people  to  a  nominal  acceptance  of  the  Christian 
faith.  Ethelbert,  King  of  Kent  in  596,  was  the 
first  to  receive  the  new  religion,  and  upon  the  site 
of  his  palace  Canterbury  Cathedral  stands.  The 
chair  in  which  the  ancient  Kings  of  Kent  were 
crowned  is  preserved  in  the  church.  From  this 
spot  therefore,  even  though  feebly  and  mistily,  our 
own  faith  sprang.  As  much  as  we  may  abhor  the 
errors  of  the  Romish  Church,  we  cannot  forget 
that  it  was  through  her  hands  we  ourselves  have 
received  the  Word  of  Life.  The  procession  of 
monks  from  Rome  entered  the  heathen  city  where 
the  temples  of  stormy  Thor  and  wanton  Freya 
stood,  bearing  a  silver  cross  and  chanting  the  sol- 
emn old  Latin  words,  "  Deprecamur  te  Domine  in 
>mnia  miserecordia  ut  auferatur  furor  tuus." 

The  list  of  ancient  charities  of  the  city  of  Can- 
terbury is  a  curious  one.  One  of  them  is  a  bene- 
faction producing  an  annual  income  of  £37  5s.,  to 
provide  gowns  of  russet  cloth  for  poor  persona 
ibove  fifty  years  of  age,  residing  in  certain  parishes 
of  the  city  ;  another  is  a  gift  of  £100,  every  £5 
uf  the  interest  of  which  sum  is  to  be  appropriated 
to  setting  up  some  young  man  in  trade  who  hai 


LONDON   TO   FOLKESTONE.  317 

aorved  an  apprenticeship  of  seven  years  ;  another 
is  a  yearly  rent  of  but  eleven  shillings. 

"While  I  was  at  the  Fountains  Inn,  the  landlord 
insisted  upon  my  hearing  the  famous  "  Canterbury 
Catch  Club,"  which  has  been  established  for  about 
a  century.  It  was  an  odd  scene,  rivaling  a  German 
student's  beer-cellar.  A  large  room  handsomely 
frescoed  in  blue  and  gold  was  arranged  with  long 

©  ©  © 

mahogany  tables,  at  which  companies  of  gentlemen 
old  and  young  sat,  each  with  a  tall  mug  of  ale 
before  him  and  a  long  white  clay  pipe.  Through 
the  thick  volumes  of  smoke  appeared  also  a  speak- 
er's desk,  and  a  raised  platform  at  one  end  of  the 
apartment  where  the  singers  and  the  musicians  sat. 
I  was  invited  to  a  seat  by  the  side  of  a  ruddy-faced 
Canterbury  burgher,  who  gave  me  a  minute  history 
of  the  club  and  its  trials  with  democratic  foes,  and 
furnished  me  with  a  good  deal  of  gossip  about  city 
matters,  hop  speculations,  beer  making,  etc.  The 
ladies  occupied  an  adjoining  apartment  with  an 
open  door  between,  and  they  must  have  enjoyed 
with  the  music  a  powerful  flavor  of  smoke  during 
"  the  ambrosial  evening."     There  were  some  brass 

© 

instruments,  but  the  chief  entertainment  was  song- 
Binging,.  and  if  ever  I  heard  true  melody,  such  as 
makes  the  heart  leap  and  the  eye  sparkle,  it  was 
there.  The  old  historic  glee  of  "  Queen  Bess ' 
•vas  given  in  fine  round  style,  and  the  national 
piece  called  "  The  British  Isles,"  with  five  parts, 
touched  a  chord  in  every  heart.  Some  sweet  Eng- 
ish  airs  full  of  tenderness  were  sung  with  manly 


318  OLD  ENGLAND. 

eeling ;    but  the  gem  of  the  evening  was   Sbak 
Epeare's  majestic  lines  sang  in  six  voices  :  — 

"  The  cloud-capt  towers,  the  gorgeous  palaces, 
The  solemn  temples,  the  great  globe  itself, 
Yea  all  which  it  inherits  shall  dissolve, 
And  like  this  unsubstantial  pageant  faded, 
Leave  not  a  rack  behind." 

Voice  followed  voice,  solemn  and  rich,  as  if  they 
were  building  up  together  in  harmony  these  glori- 
ous fabrics,  and  then  interweaving  and  dying  away 
in  plaintive  tones  like  the  wind  that  sweeps  over 
the  ruins  of  a  desert  city.  The  whole  evening 
was  so  thoroughly  racy,  hearty,  and  English,  that 
I  could  almost  forgive  the  stupefying  beer  and  acrid 
tobacco  smoke.  He  who  says  the  English  have  no 
music  in  them  should  hear  one  of  these  national 
«  Catch  Clubs." 

It  is  a  dull,  long,  lonely  ride  between  Canterbury 
and  Dover,  sixteen  miles  over  the  chalk  hills,  with 
now  and  then  a  dirty,  boozy,  drinking  inn.  The 
names  of  English  road-side  inns,  such  as  the  "  Bar- 
ley Mow,"  the  "Red  Cow,"  the  "Pack  Horse," 
the  "  Malt  Shovel,"  etc.,  have  the  true  smack  of 
rural  England.  Sitting  on  the  outside  of  the  coach 
I  was  amused  by  the  conversation  of  two  young 
Londoners,  with  round  hats,  checked  clothes,  and 
eye-glasses,  upon  the  comparative  merits  of  Lon- 
don theatres.  Their  pronunciation  particularly 
attracted  me  as  being  the  broadest  type  of  Punch's 
vtterances  of  this  class  of  youth.  As  a  genera, 
'hing  I  do  not  altogether  dislike  the  English  man 


LONDON  TO  FOLKESTONE.  319 

ner  of  speaking,  notwithstanding  its  "  stomachic  " 
tones.  It  has  a  manliness,  richness,  and  breadth 
of  light  and  shade,  that  our  sharp  flat  pronuncia- 
tion lacks.  It  does  not  dwell  upon  the  short  vow- 
els as  Americans  are  apt  to  do,  but  touches  them 
lightly.  Yet  when  English  pronunciation  is  pushed 
to  an  extreme,  now  gurgling  thick  as  Devonshire 
cream,  and  now  running  up  and  down  the  gamut 
in  extraordinarily  high  and  low  tones,  it  is  any 
thing  but  harmonious  or  intelligible.  There  are,  it 
is  true,  very  decided  differences  of  pronunciation 
among  educated  men  in  England  and  in  America, 
— ■which  are  right  ?  We  should  think  that  the  older 
nation  would  retain  the  right  standard,  but  it 
would  be  difficult  for  us  to  say  "  primer,"  and  "  in- 
spiration," as  they  say  them  in  Oxford  ;  or  "  fer- 
tile "  and  "  e-vil ;  "  or  "  rather  "  and  "  Sarah  ;  " 
or  "  Iron  Juke "  and  "  Tchudor  architecture." 
Pronunciation  is  so  arbitrary  a  thing,  however,  that 
^ne  need  not  be  alarmed  if  he  sometimes  differs 
from  another  educated  person,  especially  from  one 
across  the  water.  Americans,  I  contend,  have  a 
superior  clearness  of  articulation,  but  with  our 
tendency  to  lay  stress  on  unaccented  syllables, 
and  our  flat  pronunciation  of  the  vowels,  we  may 
learn  something  from  the  trippingly  talking  Eng- 
lishman. 

We  are  now  going  ove*  a  portion  of  that  great 
chalk  region  of  England,  which  extends  north 
through  nearly  the  whole  of  the  counties  of  Suffolk 
ind  Norfolk,  and  south  through  large  portions  of 


820  OLD   ENGLAND. 

Sussex,  Hants,  Wilts,  and  Dorset  counties,  and  is 
seen  also  in  the  Isle  of  Wight.  It  marKS  and 
paints  itself  in  the  scenery  with  its  more  tranquil 
and  gently  undulating  hills  and  vales,  rising  higher 
toward  the  sea-coast,  and  breaking  off  in  bold  cliffs, 
as  at  Dover  and  Folkestone.  Patches  of  snow- 
white  chalk  rock  gleam  out  here  and  there  from 
the  summits  and  sides  of  the  green  hills,  like  the 
white  Southdown  sheep  that  feed  upon  them  ;  and 
they  are  as  different  from  the  black  slate  shelves 
of  Wales  as  if  it  were  another  world.  The  in- 
tensely green  and  white  colors  form  a  fine  contrast. 
Geologists  tell  us  that  we  are  treading  here  upon 
the  bed  of  a  primitive  ocean,  formed  by  the  accu- 
mulation of  minute  crustaceous  and  marine  ani- 
mals. This  was  all  life  once.  When  we  look  up 
we  are  lost  in  the  greatness  of  the  celestial  uni- 
verse, whose  edges  only  we  have  feebly  explored, 
and  when  we  look  under  our  feet  we  are  lost  in  the 
infinity  of  the  minute  ;  and  both  bear  equal  evi- 
dence to  the  inconceivable  extent  of  the  Past,  and 
to  the  truth  that  their  Author  is  "  from  everlasting 
to  everlasting." 

In  the  calcareous  rock  are  found  those  colossal 
mammals  and  quadrupeds  of  the  British  Museum, 
those  mountains  of  bones,  vastly  excelling  in  size 
the  sculptured  bulls  of  Nineveh. 

Here  in  the  neighborhood  of  Dover  began  that 
famous  Roman  road  of  which  we  have  already 
spoken,  called  "  Watling  Street,"  and  which  the 
traveler    often    comes    across   in   his   journeying! 


LONDON  TO  FOLKESTONE.  321 

through  the  midland  counties.  It  ran  through 
Kent  over  the  Thames  by  London  ;  on  by  St.  Al- 
bans and  Stratford  ;  along  the  Severn  by  Worces- 
ter ;  and  then  through  the  middle  of  Wales  to 
Caradigan  on  the  Irish  Channel.  Nothing  by 
halves,  was  the  Roman  motto.  What  a  concep- 
tion one  gets  of  the  power  of  ancient  Rome  to  find 
her  roads,  viaducts,  bridges,  arches,  baths,  citadels, 
standing  in  the  midst  of  totally  dissimilar  and  far- 
distant  regions,  like  England,  Northern  Germany, 
Syria,  and  the  wastes  of  Africa.  Her  rule  in  Brit- 
ain was  on  the  whole  beneficial,  and  she  taught 
the  painted  barbarians  of  "  The  Little  Island " 
their  first  grand  lesson  in  civilization  —  the  idea  of 
Law. 

Dover  has  little  to  interest  with  the  exception  of 
its  castle,  which  stands  upon  a  high  rock  to  the 
east  of  the  town,  and  covers  some  thirty-five  acres 
with  its  buildings  of  Roman,  Saxon,  Norman,  and 
modern  architecture.  As  the  principal  of  the 
"  Cinque  Ports,"  and  as  the  great  outlet  to  the 
Continent,  and  more  than  all  as  one  of  the  few 
places  of  safety  along  that  sweep  of  dangerous 
coast,  Dover  Avill  always  be  important.  And  even 
this  is  a  precarious  haven.  The  immense  works 
now  going  on  for  the  improvement  of  the  harbor, 
«o  that  fleets  may  ride  in  safety  in  it,  are  very 
ilowly  progressing.  Another  generation  may  en- 
joy their  advantages.  It  is  a  mighty  submarine 
Dattle  with  shifting  sands,  and  an  external  one  with 
winter  storms.  When  finished,  this  "  harbor  of  ref 
21 


S22  OLD  ENGLAND. 

uge  "  will  embrace  an  area  of  760  acres,  surround* 
ed  by  a  wall  more  than  two  miles  in  length,  and 
securing  a  depth  of  30  or  40  feet  of  water  at  low 
tide. 

These  great  white  cliffs  of  Dover,  covered  with 
fierce  barbarians,  presented  a  formidable  sight  to 
the  galleys  of  Cassar,  as  they  sailed  slowly  by  to 
find  a  difficult  landing-place  a  little  further  north  at 
Deal.  In  those  times  the  water  came  up  to  the 
foot  of  the  cliffs,  and  the  port  of  Dover  was  at  the 
mouth  of  the  Dour  Valley,  on  the  north  of  the 
city,  extending  as  far  as  Charlton,  and  which  is 
now  filled  up.  Coming  into  Dover  Harbor  in  a 
dark  night  the  lines  of  lights  upon  the  lofty  heights, 
the  bright  lights  of  the  Castle,  and  the  brilliant 
beacons  along  the  towering  cliffs,  have  a  singular 
effect  ;  they  seem  as  if  written  on  the  face  of  the 
sky.  The  town  stands  chiefly  upon  a  strip  of  soil 
formed  under  the  cliffs,  and  is  mostly  composed  of 
one  long  street.     It  has  broken  an  outlet  for  itself 

© 

from  its  confined  prison-house  on  the  ocean,  right 
through  the   hills   that  surround   it.     The  double 

© 

tunnel  under  Shakspeare's  Cliff,  for  the  passage  of 
the  South  Eastern  Railroad,  more  than  three  quar 
ters  of  a  mile  long,  is  a  stupendous  work.  From 
the  soft  and  crumbling  nature  of  the  chalk  rock,  its 
cutting  was  a  perilous  and  often  disastrous  opera- 
tion. And  there  are  seven  other  tunnels  on  this 
line,  some  of  them  still  more  difficult  and  extended. 
'  Shakspeare's  Cliff "  is  not  so  high  as  it  was  in 
vhe  poet's  time,  and  its  base  has  receded  from  the 


LONDON   TO  FOLKESTONE.  323 

tfater.  From  its  form,  sloping  inward,  and  an- 
swering perfectly  to  the  words  of  Edgar 

"  There  is  a  cliff  whose  high  and  bending  head," — 

every  fragment  that  falls  from  the  edge  lessens  its 
height.  In  walking  up  it  I  roused  a  host  of  little 
birds,  making  the  air  melodious  with  their  morn- 
ing songs.  From  the  top  of  the  cliff  I  counted 
one  hundred  and  twenty  sail,  and  saw  the  coast  of 
France  distinctly,  although  the  day  was  dusky.  It 
is  twenty-one  miles  across.  The  time  was  when 
this  England  was  thought  to  be  a  mere  appendage 
to  yonder  coast  by  its  Norman  kings.  The  view 
toward  Folkestone  has  something  wild  and  solemn 
in  it.  The  white  cliffs  solitary  and  stern,  gleaming 
pale  under  the  sombre  sky,  look  like  resolute  and 
thoughtful  sentinels  watching  the  opposite  hostile 
coast,  the  giant  guardians  of  freedom. 

Folkestone,  six  miles  from  Dover,  is  soon  reached 
upon  the  railway.  It  has  been  greatly  improved, 
purified,  and  beautified,  since  it  has  become  the 
chief  point  of  communication  with  Boulogne,  a  sail 
of  an  hour  and  a  half.  Here,  as  at  Dover,  one 
sees  the  genuine  English  sailor  such  as  France 
cannot  grow.  He  "  smacks  of  the  wild  Norwegian 
Btill,"  and  has  an  impudent,  independent  swagger, 
but  stands  on  the  deck  firm  as  a  rock,  and  carries 
a  calm  eye  and  ruddy  cheek. 

The  "  Pavilion  Hotel  "  at  Folkestone  is  a  most 
comfortable  and  ample  house.  The  aristocratic 
town  stands  above  on  the  heights.  The  grassy 
»dge  of  the  cliff  forms  a  beautiful  promenade. 


324  OLD  ENGLAND. 

Not  far  from  Folkestone  to  the  south  are  Hythe, 
Romney,  and  Hastings,  —  three  other  towns  of  the 
Cinque  Ports,  — 

"  Sandwich  and  Romney,  Hastings,  Hythe  and  Dover, 
Were  all  alert  that  day." 

Seven  miles  from  Hastings  is  "  Battle  Abbey,"  the 
remains  of  that  proud  structure  built  by  William 
the  Conqueror  on  the  field  of  Hastings,  over  the 
spot  where  Harold  fell.  It  was  also  upon  these 
shores  that  our  free-roving  ancestors,  the  rough, 
big,  blue-eyed  Saxons,  swarmed  in  upon  Eng- 
land. At  "  the  Isle  of  Thanet,"  near  Margate, 
landed  the  first  Saxon  invaders.  Craftily  obtain- 
ing possession  of  but  just  as  much  land  as  a  bull's 
hide  would  go  around,  with  true  Anglo-Saxon 
acquisitiveness  they  finally  overran  and  conquered 
the  whole  island.  The  same  old  viking  spirit  of 
the  lust  of  power  and  possession  has  manifested  it- 
self in  the  whole  course  of  English  history,  in  the 
harrying  of  Scotland,  the  oppression  of  Ireland,  and 
the  unprincipled  conquest  of  India ;  and  it  has 
cropped  out  in  the  New  World  in  the  policy  of  the 
United  States  toward  the  American  Indian,  and 
ji  the  system  of  American  Slavery.  But  let  us  be 
thankful  that  the  spark  of  a  nobler  spirit  was  also 
sown  with  this  inborn  piratical  instinct  —  the  spark 
of  the  love  of  liberty  —  which  though  long  lying  la- 
tent finally  breaks  out  and  burns  up  what  is  bas© 
ind  material. 


CHAPTER  XVHI. 

TUNBRIDGE   WELLS    TO    ISLE    OF    WIGHT. 

Tunbridge  Junction  on  the  South  Eastern 
Railway  is  just  half  way  between  Folkestone  and 
London  ;  and  by  a  branch  line  of  five  miles  one 
comes  to  Tunbridge  Wells.  Seated  in  the  garden 
of  Kent,  on  the  brow  of  a  hill  overlooking  a  broad 
and  gentle  vale,  is  this  old  and  popular  watering- 
place.  Its  thymy  and  healthy  moors  strewn  with 
singular  masses  of  isolated  rock,  its  luxuriant  hop- 
vines,  its  chalybeate  spring,  and  above  all  its  union 
of  pastoral  beauty  with  the  comforts  and  elegancies 
of  a  handsome  town,  will  always  make  it  a  favorite 
English  health  resort,  to  those  who  can  bear  the 
rou^h  breezes  of  the  Eno-lish  Channel. 

The  sandstone  rocks  of  Tunbridge  Wells  form  a 
part  of  that  remarkable  geological  feature  called 
"  The  Wealden  Beds."  They  are  the  uncovered 
strata  of  clay,  sandstone,  limestone,  and  iron- 
stone, formed  underneath  the  great  chalk-bed  of 
this  region.  They  extend  over  large  portions  ot 
Kent  and  Sussex,  and  reach  even  to  the  coast  of 
France.  From  petrified  forests  and  characteristic 
(ossil  remains  found  in  the  "  Wealden,"  it  is  in- 
ferred that  these  strata  were  a  fresh- water  deposit. 


326  OLD   ENGLAND. 

Here  was  once  the  vast  estuary  of  a  British  Amazon 
more  than  one  degree  wide,  flowing  from  interior 
mountains  before  the  English  Channel  was  scooped 
out.  It  is  conjectured  that  on  the  subsidence  of 
the  waters,  those  odd  columnar  masses  known  as 
the  "  Harrison,"  "  Eridge,"  "  Rusthall,"  and 
"  Toad  "  rocks  were  left  standing,  and  being  soft 
stone  have  been  worn  into  their  present  grotesque 
shapes  by  the  action  of  time  and  weather.  The 
"  Wealden  "  is  said  to  grow  the  finest  oaks  for 
Bhip-timber  that  are  to  be  found  in  England. 

Brighton,  in  Sussex  County,  the  queen  of  all 
English  watering-places,  is  fifty-one  miles  by  rail 
from  London.  I  made  the  journey  during  a  vio- 
lent October  tempest,  when  at  times  the  stout 
English  locomotive  could  hardly  make  head  against 
the  fierce  blasts  of  wind,  rain,  and  hail.  At  the 
hotel  I  was  put  in  a  room  very  high  up,  "  be- 
cause," said  the  landlady,  "  it  was  the  height  of  the 
season."  The  windows  rattled  and  the  house  shook. 
It  was  one  of  those  storms  that  strew  the  coast 
of  England  with  wrecks.      I    mvself  counted  one 


- 


$r 


mys 


hundred  and  five  wrecks  from  that  one  storm  re- 
ported in  the  English  papers,  —  how  many  more 
there  were  I  know  not.  But  the  next  morning 
the  pier  at  Brighton  presented  a  sublime  sight. 
Although  the  wind  was  still  so  furious  that  it  was 
difficult  to  walk  or  drive,  hundreds  of  bold  ladies 
tvere  gathered  on  the  sea-walk  to  witness  the  ef- 
fects of  the  storm.     No  ship  was  in  sight,  and  as 


TUNBRIDGE  WELLS   TO  ISLE  OF  WIGHT.       327 

far  as  could  be  seen  there  was  one  wild  gray  chaos 
of  waters,  with  now  and  then  a  bright  light  break- 
ing through  the  coal-black  storm-clouds,  and  illu- 
mining  a  spot  far  out  on  the  sombre  and  angry 
waste.  Every  billow  made  a  clean  sweep  over  the 
graceful  chain-bridge  of  the  "  New  Pier,"  twisting 
and  rending  away  its  supports.  What  gigantic  in- 
rolling  arches  and  fountains  of  foam,  that,  as  they 
leaped  on  high,  were  scattered  by  the  wind  like  a 
driving  snow-blast !  An  old  fisherman  told  me 
that  there  had  not  been  such  a  storm  since  the 
Pilgrim  was  wrecked.  Opposite  Kemp-town  men 
were  occupied  in  securing  casks,  bales,  and  boxes, 
that  came  ashore  from  a  Mediterranean  trading- 
vessel,  which  had  been  thrown  on  the  chalk  cliffs  a 
few  miles  distant.  The  cliffs  stretching  north  even 
to  Beachy  Head  looked  most  formidable,  and  woe 
to  the  craft  that  was  then  flung  upon  their  white 
teeth. 

Yet  ladies  reclining  on  sofas  at  the  windows  of 
their  hotels,  while  they  sipped  their  coffee  at  break- 
fast, might  look  directly  out  over  this  fierce  marine 
view.  For  three  miles  there  is  a  noble  drive  and 
pea-wall,  lined  with  splendid  mansions,  hotels,  and 
boarding-houses,  adapted  for  winter  residence. 
Brighton,  notwithstanding  its  sea-exposure,  is  a 
comparatively  warm  and  agreeable  winter  resort. 
It  is,  in  the  summer  months,  a  city  of  nearly  100,- 
000  inhabitants.  The  smooth  undulating  Downs 
♦bove  the  town  not  only  produce  delicate  mutton, 
out  are  fine  fields  for  walking  and  horseback  exer- 


328  OLD   ENGLANT 

cise.  The  "  Pavilion,"  with  its  puerile  domes 
and  minarets,  recalls  the  false  and  flimsy  epoch 
of  that  semi-Oriental  monarch,  George  IV.  His 
statue  by  Chan  trey  stands  upon  a  promenade  called 
the  «  Old  Steine." 

The  atmosphere  of  Brighton  is  considered  to  be 
favorable  for  invalids  in  the  winter  time,  as  well 
as  the  summer.  Dr.  Kebbell,  in  a  book  upon 
"The  Climate  of  Brighton"  says  of  it:  "  The  mild- 
ness, and  particularly  the  equableness,  of  the  at- 
mosphere, and  its  freedom  from  all  malarious  ex- 
halations, together  with  the  choice  it  offers  in  the 
difference  of  temperature  between  its  sheltered  and 
exposed  situations,  all  combine  in  rendering  Brigh- 
ton a  very  desirable  place  of  residence  during  the 
winter  months,  and  suitable  in  the  great  majority 
of  diseases  for  which  sea-air  is  found  to  be  service- 
able. To  define  the  winter  climate  of  Brighton  in 
a  few  words  I  should  use  the  terms  mild,  equable, 
dry,  and  bracing ;  though  in  this  latter  quality  it 
varies  considerably  in  its  different  situations.  I 
should  say  that  the  more  sheltered  parts  of  Brigh- 
ton cannot  differ  very  materially  in  the  general 
properties  of  their  climate  from  some  of  the  more 
elevated  portions  of  Ventnor.  The  sea-side  places 
on  the  southwest  coast,  as  Torquay  and  Penzance, 
owing  to  their  more  westerly  position,  have  both  a 
milder  and  more  equable  winter  climate  thar 
Brighton,  or  any  other  place  on  the  south  coast 
^ut  they  are  at  the  same  time  more  rel^dng,  ener 


TUNBRIDGE   WELLS    TO   ISLE    OF   WIGHT.        829 

rating  and  humid  —  qualities  of  climate  which  as- 
suredly agree  better  with  some  constitutions,  and 
are  particularly  well  suited  for  a  large  class  of  pul- 
monary complaints.  But  the  impression  is  cer- 
tainly now  rapidly  gaining  ground  that  the  drier 
and  more  bracing  climates  of  the  south  coast  are, 
on  the  whole,  more  conducive  to  health,  as  well  as 
more  suitable  to  the  great  majority  of  invalids, 
including  many  chest  affections,  and  even  some 
forms  of  pulmonary  consumption. 

How  often  one  spirit  seems  to  take  possession  of 
a  place,  and  to  pervade  it  like  a  divinity,  so  that 
every  thing  else  in  the  place  is  known  or  brought 
into  prominence  simply  by  its  relations  to  that  spirit. 
We  at  a  distance  know  Brighton  as  the  home  of 
F.  W.  Robertson ;  though  doubtless  thousands  in 
Brighton  would  be  surprised  at  this,  or,  it  may  be, 
would  sneer  at  it.  But,  more  than  any  thing  else 
Brighton  is  interesting  to  us,  because  here  so  great 
a  part  of  his  life-battle  was  fought.  These  clay 
cliffs  have  light  on  them,  because  his  feet  trod 
ihem,  and  this  ocean  view  is  glorious  because  his 
wearied  mind  was  so  often  refreshed  by  it.  In  the 
pulpit  of  Trinity  Chapel  he  preached  those  match- 
less sermons  which  are  almost  perfect  in  form,  and 
are  perhaps  the  best  expression  of  the  modern  type 
c)f  finished,  pulpit  oratory.  It  is  a  singular  fact 
that  he  who  would  not,  as  a  matter  of  principle, 
lay  any  thing  that  he  thought  would  be  popular 
was  one  of  the  most  popular  preachers  of  the  times. 


330  OLD  ENGLAND. 

The  scene  at  his  funeral,  when  fifteen  hundred 
working  men  followed  his  remains  to  the  grave,  and 
the  whole  city  spontaneously  put  on  mourning,  was 
a  burial  that  no  king  could  hope  for.  Yet  his 
power  was  not  altogether  inborn  or  accidental ;  it 
was  in  part  the  result  of  thorough  culture.  He 
who,  other  things  being  equal,  would  rival  him  as 
a  preacher,  must  go  through  his  training.  His  ser- 
mons have  a  unity,  a  depth,  an  individuality  of 
thought,  that  could  come  but  from  the  severest  dis- 
cipline. Added  to  this,  his  Eesthetic  sense,  his 
poet's  love  of  Nature,  his  exquisite  mastery  of  lan- 
guage, in  which  "  the  word  is  born  with  the 
thought,"  and  his  intense  realization  of  truth  —  his 
self-absorption  in  it  —  made  a  combination  of  won- 
drous power.  He  who  makes  abstract  things  sim- 
ple, and  spiritual  things  plain,  will  have  hearers 
enough.  He  will  speak  to  the  world.  Robertson 
is  another  proof  that  the  highest  culture,  the  truest 
art,  instead  of  unfitting  a  man  to  be  a  preacher 
to  all  minds,  to  the  unlettered  as  well  as  educated, 
only  fits  him  the  better  for  it.  It  is  the  man  who 
is  half  trained  who  never  gets  to  the  depths  of  a 
subject,  nor  the  depths  of  a  heart.  He  spoke  some 
things  that  will  not  chime  with  the  orthodoxy  of 
the  aires,  and  that  are  too  inconsistent  to  entitle 
him  to  be  a  sure  guide  in  theology,  but  if  he  spoke 
boldly  he  was  ready  to  suffer ;  and  as  a  man  who 
had  drunk  into  the  spirit  of  self-sacrifice,  who 
seized  upon  the  central  truth  of  Christ  as  the  life 
gf  the  soul,  who  followed  his  Divine  Lord  through 


TUNBRIDGE  WELLS   TO  ISLE  OF   WIGHT.        331 

jfe  and  death,  and  whose  earnest  words  came  out 
of  the  white  heat  of  his  own  soul's  strife  and  agonv 
—  for  these  things,  all  true  men  in  all  Christian 
.andswill  love  him.  Robertson's  life  is  sad  to  read. 
though  one  "with  a  kingly  sorrow  crowned."  II« 
has  found,  in  his  own  words,  "  Rest  in  God  and 
Love  :  deep  repose  in  that  country  where  the  mys- 
tery of  this  strange  life  is  solved,  and  the  most 
feverish  heart  lays  down  its  load  at  last." 

Venerable  Winchester,  Hants,  overlooking  the 
beautiful  vale  of  the  Itchen,  is  worthy  of  a  lono-er 
description  than  I  can  give  it.  It  was  Alfred's 
home,  and  was  an  old  British  city  even  before  his 
day.  It  has  played  a  royal  part  in  all  the  early 
history  of  England,  especially  during  the  Norman 
period.  In  its  ancient  cathedral,  Egbert  the  first 
Saxon  king,  Richard  I.,  and  three  other  English 
monarchs,  were  crowned.  The  dust  of  Alfred, 
Egbert,  Canute,  and  William  Rufus,  sleeps  here. 
The  remains  of  many  Saxon  princes  have  been 
gathered  into  six  small  chests,  or  coffers,  and  placed 
in  the  choir.  Winchester  is  the  chief  seat  and 
home  of  that  great  genius,  William  of  Wykeham ; 
the  west  front  of  the  Cathedral,  with  its  nobis 
perpendicular  window,  and  also  the  magnificent 
nave,  are  his  handiwork.  No  English  Cathedral 
has  a  more  impressive  and  beautiful  interior  than 
Winchester,  though  its  exterior  is  low  and  austere  ; 
the  amount  of  exquisite  carved  flower-work  in  this 
•  hurch  I  have  before  hinted  at.     The  tomb  and 


B32  OLD  ENGLAND. 

painted  effigy  of  its  greatest  builder,  William  of 
Wykeham,  is  quite  perfect,  and  represents  him  as  a 
fresh-faced  benignant  looking  man.  The  capped 
effigy  of  Cardinal  Beaufort  is  in  the  presbytery, 
in  which  he  is  represented  as  having  a  Norman 
nose  and  high  proud  face.  Shakspeare  says  "  He 
died  and  made  no  sign  ; "  and  one  cannot  help 
thinking  in  contrast  of  the  death  of  the  stern  but 
just  Scotch  reformer,  as  related  by  Carlyle : 
"  '  Hast  thou  hope  ?  '  they  asked  of  John  Knox 
when  he  lay  a-dying.  He  spake  nothing,  but 
raised  his  finger  and  pointed  upward,  and  so  he 
died." 

Gentle  Izaak  Walton's  remains  also  rest  here. 
He  lived  in  Winchester  with  his  son-in-law  until 
he  was  ninety  years  old.  Dr.  Arnold  was  a  scholar 
of  Winchester  School,  which  is  the  oldest  in  the 
kingdom. 

From  Winchester  I  went  to  Portsmouth,  a 
wholly  different  scene,  with  its  dirty  crowded 
streets  and  busy  dockyards.  Hiring  two  old  mot- 
tle-faced "  salts,"  I  took  a  row  in  the  lake-like 
basin  of  the  harbor,  though  the  waves  were  still 
rolling  and  tossing  uncomfortably,  so  that  when  we 
put  up  sail  and  plowed  across  the  harbor,  we  had 
a  plentiful  shower-bath  of  salt  water.  We  passed 
«he  old  Bellerophon,  now  rotting  by  the  wharf. 
She  looks  small  and  stubbed  by  the  side  of  those 
/ast  "  three-deckers  "  that  lie  around  in  the  harbor 
like  chained  sea-lions,  and  which  are  in  fact  lik< 
[ions  with  their  fangs  pulled  out.    "  Yankee  cheese* 


TUN  BRIDGE  WELLS  TO  ISLE  OF  WIGHT.       333 

boxes  on  rafts  "  have  drawn  the  fire  from  these  old 
thunderers.  The  Victory  also  lies  here,  and  is 
crowded  with  chubby-cheeked,  bright  eyed  naval 
apprentices.  Though  made  over  almost  entirely, 
something  of  the  ancient  vessel  still  remains,  es- 
pecially  in  the  lower  parts.  One  is  shown  the  spot 
where  Nelson  fell,  and  the  "  cock-pit "  where  he 
died. 

At  Spithead,  just  outside  of  the  harbor,  where 
the  Royal  Creorge  went  down,  is  the  chief  ren- 
dezvous of  the  British  Navy.  It  is  protected 
from  violent  winds  by  the  Isle  of  Wight  and  the 
main  land.  These  great  inland  channels  made  by 
the  Isle  of  Wight,  Spithead,  the  Solent,  and  South- 
hampton water,  these  free  yet  broad  and  sheltered 
anchorages,  give  to  this  point  of  the  English  coast 
its  naval  preeminence.  Here  is  its  naval  arsenal. 
Not  obtaining  admission  to  the  dockyards  which 
form  the  principal  object  of  interest  in  Portsmouth, 
covering  some  one  hundred  and  twenty  acres,  and 
separated  from  the  city  by  a  wall  fourteen  feet  high, 
I  will  go  on  to  Southampton. 

The  ride  of  eighteen  miles  is  for  the  first  part 
of  the  way  along  the  shore  of  the  inner  harbor,  and 
affords  one  a  view  of  the  fine  ruins  of  Porchester 
Castle.  I  had  here  a  second  specimen  of  an  oscil- 
uting  car,  which  jolted  out  many  rough  sayings 
from  the  sea-faring  passengers. 

At  Southampton  the  most  striking  object  is  a 
piece  of  the  old  feudal  wall  looking  sea- ward,  —  a 
grand  fragment.     Southampton  has  almost  the  as- 


834  OLD  ENGLAND. 

pect  of  a  new  American  town,  and  seems  to  have  a 
great  deal  of  unoccupied  ground.  In  the  hall  of 
the  hotel  all  sorts  of  odd-shaped  boxes,  elaborately 
corded  bundles  and  packages,  marked  "  Bom- 
bay," "  Calcutta,"  &c,  remind  one  that  he  stands 
here  in  the  vestibule  of  the  avenue  that  leads  to 
the  great  Indian  Empire.  I  was  told  that  when  a 
steamer  for  Egypt  left  Southampton,  she  would 
often  take  eight  hundred  solid  boxes  of  letters, 
bucIi  as  one  sees  marked  with  large  capitals  in  the 
yard  of  the  London  Post-office.  Southampton  was 
the  birthplace  of  Isaac  Watts  ;  and  beautiful  Netley 
Abbey,  one  would  think,  might  make  poets  now. 

The  Isle  of  Wight  is  a  pocket  edition  of  Eng- 
land, —  an  epitome,  a  compact  gem,  of  all  Eng- 
land's beauties  of  rolling  hills,  quiet  valleys,  em- 
erald meadows,  hedgy  lanes,  broken  cliffs,  and 
shaggy  ocean  bays.  I  visited  the  Isle  of  Wight  in 
the  month  of  August,,  so  that  this  visit  forms  a 
short  episode  by  itself,  and  breaks  somewhat  the 
regular  course  of  my  travel  southward.  In  driv- 
ing across  the  island  from  Cowes  to  Sandown  Bay, 
we  soon  lost  sight  of  the  tall  square  campanile  of 
the  Italian  villa  of  "  Osborne  House,"  and  aftbr  a 
ride  of  five  miles  along  the  Medina  River,  through 
a  bosky  wooded  country,  we  came  to  the  old  town 
of  Newport,  the  harbor  of  Carisbrooke.  Caris- 
brooke  Castle  lies  about  a  mile  to  the  north,  and 
nearly  in  the  centre  of  the  island.  It  is  perched 
»n  the  summit  of  a  round  green  hill,  and  one  enters 


TUNBRIDGE  WELLS   TO   ISLE  OF   WIGHT.       335 

t  under  an  archway  of  Elizabeth's  time ;  and  sure- 
ly nothing  can  be  more  lovely  than  the  marine  view 
from   its   battlements  over    the  tranquil   but  busy 
waters  of  the  Solent.     On  the  left  of  the  gateway 
are  the  rooms  once  occupied  by  Charles  I. ;    but 
the  window  from  which  the  king's  escape  was  at- 
tempted is  built  up.     The  broken   keep  still  pre- 
sents   outwardly  a   lofty,   rugged,   defiant   aspect; 
while  within,  a  poor   little   scrubby  donkey  draw- 
ing up  water  from  the  interminable  well,  was  the 
chief  amusement  at  this  stronghold,  where  a  rough 
nation  put  its  unsafe  sovereign  under  lock  and  key. 
I   went   on    by   the   Standen    and   St.    George's 
Down  road  to  Arreton.     The  road  was  deeply  cut, 
and   on  either  side  was  a  perfect  tangle  of  thorn 
and  bramble  ;  while  riding  over  some  other  parts 
of  the  island  the  fragrance  of  the  rose  and  honey- 
suckle   was    delicious.     The    Downs    here    looked 
sere  and  white,  dried  up  by  the  heat,  although  the 
sheep  found  pretty  good  pasturage  upon  them.     At 
Arreton  I  paid  a  visit  to  the  church  where  "  The 
Dairyman's  Daughter  "  worshiped  and  was  buried. 
It  is  a  plain   stone   building  not  unlike  Hucknall 
Church,  with  buttresses  to  the  tower  on  either  side 
of  the  doorway.     Outside  in  the  rude  churchyard 
is  the  tomb  of  Elizabeth  ;    and  many  little  bare- 
footed children  clustered  around  as  I  read  the  sim- 
ple inscription.     The  bell  on  this  old  tower  tolled 
her  funeral.     The  "  rich  and  fruitful  valley,"  now 
"ich  again  with  a  new  harvest,  lay  beneath  with  a 
itreak  of  the  blue  sea  in  the  distance,  just  as  Leigh 


336  OLD  ENGLAND. 

Richmond  describes  it ;  and  the  summer  air  was  ai 
mild  as  then. 

We  drove  on  through  a  region  growing  greener 
and  more  luxuriant  to  the  "  Common,"  as  it  is 
called,  where  stands  the  cottage  in  which  this  pious 
maiden  lived  who  represented  so  simple  a  phase 
of  English  religion.  Stepping  over  two  bars  into 
the  pasture,  a  few  steps  through  the  green  meadow 
brought  us  to  the  small  oaken  wicket  gate  (doubt- 
less the  same  one  mentioned  in  the  tract)  opening 
into  a  yard,  where  a  few  common  bright  flowers, 
wild  thyme,  etc.,  were  growing ;  two  or  three 
tall  elms  shaded  the  thatched  roof  of  the  cottage, 
and  a  roughly  carved  porch  was  over  the  doorway. 
A  decent  intelligent  woman  welcomed  me  within, 
where  an  air  of  neatness  and  humble  English  com- 
fort prevailed.  There  was  the  wide  kitchen  fire- 
place, at  which  doubtless  the  good  minister  often 
sat  and  talked  with  his  young  disciple  :  and  I  was 
shown  the  Bible  belonging  to  "  The  Dairyman's 
Daughter,"  with  some  of  her  writing  in  it.  I 
looked  too  at  the  little  window  of  the  chamber 
where  she  died,  and  where  she  said  that  the  dark 
valley  was  not  dark  because  the  Lord  was  there  to 
light  it. 

In  riding  on  toward  Sandown  I  noticed  a  copse 
>f  oak-trees  very  curiously  bent  by  the  south 
wind,  so  as  to  form  a  complete  green  arch  over 
iiie  road. 

The  window  of  the  hotel  at  Sandown  looked 
iirectly   out   on    that    wide    spreading    bay    oftec 


TUNBRIDGE  WELLS  TO  ISLE  OF  WIGHT.      337 

jpoken  of  by  Leigh  Richmond,  who  had  something 
of  a  poet's  nature.  Shanklin  Chine  terminated  it 
on  the  south,  and  white  Culver  Cliff  on  the  north. 
I  gathered  fantastic  flint  pebbles,  to  fling  them  into 
the  sea  again.  What  sight  after  all  is  so  fine  as  a 
great  green  billow  just  arching  into  the  sunlight  to 
pour  itself  along  the  shore  ! 

A  short  distance  north  of  Sandown  is  Brading ; 
and  in  the  walk  from  Sandown  to  Brading  one  sees 
the  scenerv  through  which  Leigh  Richmond  walked, 
in  his  pastoral  labors  as  Rector  of  Brading  and 
Yaverland.  Back  of  lofty  Culver  Cliff,  which  is 
crowned  by  an  awkward  and  neglected  monument 
to  Lord  Yarborough,  lies  a  broad  glistening  bay 
almost  land-locked,  with  green  hills  around,  on 
whose  steep  slopes  feed  flocks  of  sheep,  and  the 
beautiful  and  rich  promontory  of  Bambridge,  where 
Leigh  Richmond  used  to  go  to  teach  the  people  of 
this  hamlet,  stands  at  the  mouth  of  this  bay.  The 
ancient  church  of  Brading,  in  the  valley,  is  far 
more  picturesque  than  the  one  at  Allerton.  It  has 
a  short  spire  with  a  long  low  body  covered  with  a 
red  roof,  and  terminated  by  a  broader  addition  or 
ell  with  three  roofs  and  gable  ends,  giving  the  rear 
of  the  church  greater  width  than  the  front.  A 
conspicuous  weather-cock  stands  upon  the  low 
spire,  as  if  to  remind  one  of  an  inscription  on  one 
of  the  old  tombstones  in  the  yard  :  "  Watch,  for 
ye  know  not  when  the  day  of  the  L*ord  cometh  ;  " 
and  in  this  yard  are  other  antique  monuments 
with  their  spiritual  legends,  which  many  women, 


338  OLD   ENGLAND. 

and  children,  and  men  also,  were  looking  at  when 
I  was  there.     Leigh  Richmond  made  a  book  of 
instruction    for   his    people  out    of    this   ancient 
churchyard    among   the    hills.      This    may    seem 
strange,  hut  among  a  rural  and  primitive   people 
the  churchyard,  usually  a  green  and  tranquil  spot, 
and  the  place  where  the  congregation  on  summer 
Sabbaths  spend  the  interval  between  the  services, 
is  no  feeble  preacher  to  conscience  and  heart ;  it 
is  their  "  wicket  gate  '"  into  Immortality.     Many 
of  the    graves  were  bound  over  with   interlacing 
rose-vine  withes.     The  parsonage,  separated  from 
the  churchyard  by  a  high  stone-wall,  stands  at  a 
little  distance  hid  in  a  wilderness  of  trees,  while 
Bambridge  Hill  rose  steeply  to  the  south  speckled 
over  with    sheep.     It  was   the  peaceful    "  noon- 
ing."    On  the  old  dial  in  the  yard  there  rested 
no  shadow.     Groups  of  clean-dressed  villagers  sat 
conversing  together  upon  the  mossy  grave-stones. 
The  soft  summer  wind  gently  swayed  the  tops  of 
the  trees.     The  rugged  church,  of  great  antiquity, 
with    weeds    and    flowers    growing   out   of    every 
crevice,  stood  in  strong  light  and  shade ;   and  on 
this  spot,  the  tradition  is,  was  the  first  preaching 
of  the  Word  of  Life  in  England.     I  entered  by 
the  low  west  porch  into  the  broad  and  cool  Nor- 
man interior.     The  arches  between  the  pillars  were 
rimmed  with  red  color,  otherwise  every  thing  was 
oare    and    plain.     In    the    high    square    unpainted 
*aken   pews   a   few    people  were   gathered.     The 
*  Evening  Hymn  "  was  first  sung,  principally  by 


TUNBEIDGE   WELLS   TO  ISLE  OF  WIGHT.       339 

fresh  young  voices ;  and  from  the  pulpit  where 
Leigh  Richmond  preached,  I  heard  a  serious  and 
pathetic  sermon  from  the  text,  "  If  any  man 
would  come  after  me,  let  him  take  up  his  cross 
daily  and  follow  me."  The  thought  "daily"  was 
dwelt  upon,  —  the  need  of  self-culture  in  small 
things,  and  in  common  every-day  matters.  The 
doors  were  wide  open,  the  mild  air  stole  softly  hi 
with  the  sunshine,  and  one  caught  glimpses  of  tk* 
flowery  churchyard  and  the  high  swelling  gree. 
hills  beyond. 

Before  leaving  Sandown  I  traversed  Culver 
Cliff,  peeping  over  its  fearful  perpendicular  front, 
and  sliding  down  its  steep  rolling  grassy  sides. 

From  Sandown  I  took  a  ride  along  the  "  Under- 
cliff"  to  Shanklin  and  Bonchurch,  and  bevond. 
This  "  Undercliff,"  which  extends  to  the  "  Nee- 
dles," is  a  breaking  down,  or  as  we  would  say  in 
America  "  caving  in,"  of  the  high  chalk  and  green 
Band-cliff  coast,  leaving  the  sea-line  a  tumbled  in- 
extricable mass  of  luxuriantly  weeded  and  wooded 
rocky  chaos,  through  which  the  road  winds  along, 
sometimes  shooting  over  the  high  hill-top  six  or 
seven  hundred  feet  in  elevation,  sometimes  around 
♦he  narrow  edge  of  the  cliff,  and  sometimes  down 
on  the  ocean  shore  at  its  base.  There  is  here  a 
«iarrow  strip  of  country  lying  directly  upon  the  sea 
under  the  hills,  of  about  seven  miles  in  extent, 
which  is  another  of  the  great  health  resorts  of  Eng- 
.and  —  for  it  has  a  Mediterranean  climate  —  of 
vhich  Ventnor  is  the  head  point  of  fashion.     The 


340  OLD  ENGLAND. 

myrtle  and  fuschia  winter  here  in  the  open  air. 
The  northerly,  easterly,  and  westerly  winds  do  not 
blow  here,  and  it  is  open  only  to  the  soft  south 
wind  blowing:  over  the  sea. 

The  cottages  by  the  road  to  and  beyond  Shank- 
lin  were  the  merest  dots  of  houses,  built  of  flint 
paving-stones,  and  some  of  them  literally  smoth- 
ered in  roses.  The  brass  knocker  on  each  front- 
door looked  about  as  big  as  the  house.  The  reapers 
were  in  the  fields  ;  the  blackberries  were  ripening ; 
the  clover  meadows  were  the  richest  I  have  ever 
seen.  The  smooth  green  field  ran  even  to  the 
edge  of  the  cliff,  and  men  were  tying  up  sheaves 
of  wheat  on  the  very  rim  of  the  high  precipice. 
Looking  thus  suddenly  off  from  the  cliffs  upon  an 
unlimited  ocean  horizon,  the  sky  and  sea  being  of 
the  same  tint,  for  there  was  a  slight  mist  in  the  air, 
and  ocean  and  sky  thus  mingling  mysteriously  to- 
gether, with  patches  here  and  there  of  soft  hazy 
sunlight  on  the  sea,  the  effect  was  strangely  beauti- 
ful, —  there  seemed  to  be  a  mystic  indefiniteness 
and  infinitude  to  the  view.  There  is  a  transcend- 
ental passage  in  Jean  Paul  Richter's  writings 
which  conveys  something  of  a  similar  impression : 
"  As  the  sea,  when  it  is  quite  stilled  and  trans- 
parent melts  so  softly  and  entirely  into  the  heaven 
which  is  mirrored  in  it,  that  both  become  arched 
into  a  globe  of  sky,  so  that  the  ship  appears  not  to 
be  borne  on  the  water  but  hovering  in  the  sofi 
*ther  of  the  universe." 

Down  in  little  gray  old  Bonchurch  Cemetery 


TUNBRIDGE   WELLS   TO   ISLE   OF   WIGHT.        341 

entirely  hid  from  the  road,  and  within  sound  of 
the  gently  rippling  sea,  sleeps  John  Sterling,  the 
friend  of  Archdeacon  Hare  and  Carlyle  ;  who  was 
the  occasion  of  one  of  the  noblest  biographies  in 
the  English  language.  Ventnor  itself  is  getting 
to  be  too  grand  and  town-like  for  such  a  little 
"  Aiden  "  as  the  Isle  of  Wight ;  and  the  great 
prim  English  stone  villas  accord  ill  with  the  wild 
verdurous  chaos  of  "  Undercliff." 

St.  Lawrence  Church,  a  little  way  beyond  Vent- 
nor, is  said  to  be  the  smallest  church  edifice  in 
England.  It  has  been  latelv  enlarged,  and  is  now 
just  twenty  feet  by  twelve,  and  has  held,  when 
crammed  as  full  as  it  could  be,  one  hundred  and 
seven  people  !  One  actually  looks  down  on  the 
eaves  when  standing  upon  the  outside  of  the 
church,  which  is  built  on  sloping  ground.  One 
minute  window  is  twelve  by  eighteen  inches  ;  two 
small  stone  crosses  crown  either  end,  and  rough 
beams  cross  the  ceiling  which  are  not  even  straight, 
resembling  the  bent  oak  ribs  of  a  ship.  Lord  Yar- 
boro's  large  pew  took  up  about  one  fourth  of  the 
interior ;  but  still  it  had  every  thing  that  belonged 
to  a  church,  even  to  a  painted  window.  It  was  a 
Lilliput  cathedral ;  yet  from  its  high  antiquity  and 
touching  lowliness,  it  had  a  certain  dignity  of  its 
own.  The  view  from  it  is  superb  over  the  darkly 
fringed  cliff  and  the  broad  blue  serene  ocean.  I 
could  not  carry  out  my  intention  to  return  to  the 
Isle  of  Wight  and  visit  the  southern  ana  western 
coasts,  the  Needles  and  STatchell's  Bay,  where  the 


342  OLD  ENGLAND. 

scenery  is  said  to  be  truly  magnificent,  with  the 
pearly-white  sharp-edged  cliff's  towering  in  great, 
isolated  masses  from  the  ocean,  and  in  a  storm 
looking  wan  and  strangely  threatening  against  the 
gloomy  sky.  Things  there  are  not  upon  such  a 
miniature  scale  of  prettiness  as  is  the  rest  of  the 
island. 

Near  Freshwater  Bay,  at  Farringford,  was  then 
the  residence  of  Alfred  Tennyson.     A  good  oppor- 
tunity had  been  afforded  from  a  high  source  of  an 
introduction    to    the    poet,  which  would  doubtless 
have  secured  for  me  a  pleasant  reception,  but  I  did 
not  avail  myself  of  it.     In  the  case  of  Maurice  and 
Kingsley,  and  also  of  Miss  Marsh,  I  had  another 
object  than   personal  curiosity  ;  and  the  interview 
with  old  Mr.  Bronte  at  Haworth  was  also  entirely 
unsought    by    me.      It   is    quite    unsatisfactory    to 
present  letters  of  introduction  in  England,  and  it 
is  far  better  to  receive  the  spontaneous  invitation 
of  a  fellow-traveler,  as  it  was  my  good  fortune  to 
do  in  two  or  three  instances,  thus  winning  for  me 
delightful  visits  to  pleasant  English  homes,  where 
every   kind    of    generous    hospitality    was    heaped 
upon  me.     An  American  friend  who  visited  Ten- 
nyson about  this  time  told  me  of  his  pride  in  the 
grove    of    ilex-trees   growing   near   his   house,   of 
which  he    speaks  in    his  poems.     In  his  ordinary 
conversation    he  would    be    taken    for   a    man   of 
icience  rather  than  a  poet ;  for  he  is  an  accurate 
student  and  keen  observer  in  the  natural  sciences 


TUNBRIDGE  WELLS   TO  ISLE  OF  WIGHT.       343 

A.ltliough  they  may  be  quite  familiar,  I  will  repeat 
lis  lines  to  Rev.  F.  D.  Maurice :  — 

'  Where,  far  from  smoke  and  noise  of  town, 
I  watch  the  twilight  falling  brown, 

All  round  a  careless  ordered  garden 

Close  to  the  ridge  of  a  noble  down. 
You  have  no  scandal  while  you  dine. 
But  honest  talk  and  wholesome  wine, 

And  oniy  hear  the  magpie  gossip 
Garrulous  under  a  roof  of  pine. 

For  groves  of  pine  on  either  hand, 
To  break  the  blast  of  winter,  stand  ; 
And  further  on,  the  hoary  channel 
Tunbles  a  breaker  on  chalk  and  a*JM> 


CHAPTER   XIX. 

SOITHAMPTO'    TO    SAIISBUKT. 

Is  £oin£  from  Southampton  to  Salisbury  on  the 
Sou:"..  Western  Railway.  I  stayed,  for  a  few  hours 
a:   Romsey,    Hants,  where    is    "  Broadlands."   the 

if  of  the  late  Lord  Palmerston.  I  wished  to 
hunt  up  some  records  in  the  Abbey  Church,  for 
which  I  was  furnished  every  facility.  The  fine 
old  church  itself  is"  a  genuine  specimen  of  the 
early  Norman,  and  it  stands  in  its  primitive  sim- 
plicirv.  It  struck  me  as  having  some  architect- 
ural resemblance  to  Bakewell  Church,  Derbyshire. 
The  sexton  grew  pathetic  over  a  long  tress  of 
auburn  hair  which  he  had  himself  exhumed,  and 
which  he  said  belonged  to  Alfred's  daughter,  or  a 
Roman  princess,  I  have  forgotten  which.  I  spent 
some  time  in  turning  over  the  ponderous  vellum 
church  archives  ;  but  it  was  like  looking  for  the 
gnure  of  Merlin,  to  find  any  particular  name  in 
inch  a  vast  u:  ..atized  mass  of  extinct  name?. 

Three  miles  from  Romsey  is  <•  Embley  Park.'' 
the  southern  home  of  Florence  Nightingale. 

It  is  a  culminating  point  in  one's  English  travel 
when  he  catches  his  first  distant  sight  of  Salisbury 
Catnedral.     If  there  is  any  thing  graceful  it  is  the 


SOUTHAMPTO      TO   SALISBURT.  Mt 

spire  of  Salisbury  Cathedral,  and  above  all  when  it 
-  -een  etherealized  through  the  mistv  English  at- 
mosphere,  which  transmutes  solid  into  aerial  forma. 
At  this  season  of  the  year,  when  the  fashionable 
travel  was  nearly  over,  and  only  business  men,  or, 
as  they  are  termed,  4;  commercial  travelers,"  are 
abroad  with  their  '•  mackintoshes  *'  and  portman- 
teaus. I  was  doomed  to  interminable  conversations 
in  railway  carriages  and  coffee-rooms,  with  hard- 
brained  and  plain-spoken  men.  I  met  among  them 
oftentimes  exceedinglv  well-informed  individuals, 
and  if  one  is  a  little  cautious  not  to  arouse  national 
prejudices,  there  are  few  more  interesting  and 
graphic  talkers  than  this  class  of  persons.  They 
are  men  who  blurt  out  their  thoughts  without 
fear  or  favor.  They  are  practical  men,  who  despise 
humbug  and  pipe-claying.  Louis  Napoleon,  to  be 
sure,  was  determined  to  burn  and  sink  England 
before  his  reign  was  over :  and  thev  did  not  know 
but  he  could  do  it,  though  he  would  find  it  a  tough 
job  ;  but,  on  all  other  topics,  no  people  are  more 
Eensible  and  clear-headed.  I  fell  in  with  some  of 
these  men  at  the  M  White  Hart  Inn  "  in  Salisbury. 
They  did  not  spare  their  national  idols,  their  lead- 
ing men.  Even  Gladstone,  who  was  one  of  the 
best  of  them  in  their  estimation,  came  in  for  his 
share  ;  they  called  him  "  a  book-man  "  who  knew 
no  more  of  finance  than  "  Boots  n  here.  They 
berated  the  boarding-houses  of  London,  and  in  fact 
London  trades-people  generally,  and  said  that  any 
of  these  would  coin  his  soul  for  a  guinea.      1 


346  OLD  ENGLAND. 

honest  talk,  if  it  sound  rough,  lends  an  individual 
ity  and  knotty  picturesqueness  to  the  commonest 
Englishman,  and  makes   him    stand  out  from  the 
rest  of  mankind  like  a  gnarled  oak. 

It  is  beautiful  to  see  the  pleasant  relationship 
existing  between  father  and  son  in  England.  It  is 
free  and  unrestrained  like  that  of  brothers.  The 
father  yields  up  his  stiff  authority  and  paternally 
critical  tone,  and  descends  to  meet  the  son  almost 
on  a  level ;  and  the  son  repays  this  with  unbounded 
affection  and  confidence.  The  conversation  be- 
tween them  sounds  almost  like  that  between  young 
men  ;  they  laugh  and  jest,  and  yet  the  fine  sense 
of  the  true  relationship  is  never  lost.  I  noticed 
this  particularly  in  the  case  of  a  young  officer  and 
his  father  whom  I  met  at  Salisbury.  They  came 
into  the  hotel  from  a  walk  of  sixteen  miles  in  a 
heavy  rain,  to  and  from  Stonehenge.  The  father 
was  really  the  more  brisk  of  the  two.  The  son 
was  an  elegant  fellow  who  could  quote  "  Juve- 
nal" about  his  fish,  and  who  had  seen  hard  service 
in  India.  He  told  his  soldier  stories  and  advent- 
ures in  a  genial  way,  that  American  sons  would  not 
do  before  their  father.  And  I  confess  I  liked  it, 
for  there  seemed  to  be  true  love  between  the  two, 
without  the  actual  loss  of  filial  respect. 

Salisbury,  the  principal  city  of  Wilts  County, 
eighty-two  miles  from  London,  seated  amid  its 
broad  open  downs,  is  the  centre  of  a  highly  inter- 
esting region  for  the  antiquarian.  Salisbury  itself 
las   some  very  old  houses,  many  of  them  having 


SOUTHAMPTON  TO  SALISBURY.  347 

thatched  roofs,  which,  grown  undulating  and  irreg- 
ular by  age,  look  like  black  elephants'  backs ;  but 
its  chief  interest  concentrates  in  its  Cathedral. 
The  quiet  "  Close,"  occupying  an  area  of  half  a 
square  mile,  surrounded  by  its  high  wall  and  quaint 
antique  gates,  its  smooth  lawn  and  noble  trees, 
comprehends  the  church,  the  Bishop's  palace,  the 
deanery,  and  many  other  buildings  of  old  founda- 
tions. These  ancient  "  Closes,"  more  or  less  de- 
fined, are  found  in  every  ecclesiastical  town  in 
England,  and  indicate  the  former  magnificence 
of  the  Church,  taking  the  lion's  share  of  the  city, 
and  of  every  thing  good  and  pleasant  in  it.  They 
were  in  fact  the  hearts  of  the  old  civilization,  the 
centres  of  power,  —  cities  within  cities,  —  and  gen- 
erally ruling  all  outside  of  them. 

In  this  green  and  tranquil  yard  sheep  roam  about 
unmolested,  and  lie  close  up  under  the  walls  of  the 
church.  Salisbury  Cathedral  has  a  noble  and  open 
site,  and  can  be  seen  therefore  to  peculiar  advan- 
tage. The  buildings  of  the  city  have  not  been 
allowed  to  encroach  upon  and  crowd  it.  It  is  a 
reverend  and  awe-inspiring  structure,  with  a  moss- 
grown,  scarred,  and  broken  front,  but  all  its  lines 
are  elegant  and  pure. 

The  octangular  spire  is  wonderfully  beautiful, 
soaring  upward  slenderly  but  to  an  immense  height 
from  the  forest  of  crocheted  turrets  upon  the  tower, 
>ts  shaft  intersected  at  intervals  with  richly  wrought 
Dands.  Its  height  to  the  tcp  of  the  cross  is  within 
:wo  inches  of  four  hundred  feet.     I  recall  my  last 


848  OLD  ENGLAND. 

«ight  of  it.  It  was  on  the  edge  of  evening,  when 
the  sailing  mists  had  left  it  entirely  free  and  clear, 
and  the  calm  golden  light  of  setting  day  rested 
brightly  for  a  little  time  upon  it,  as  it  pointed  to 
heaven  and  seemed  to  show  the  way. 

The  decline  of  the  spire  from  the  perpendicular 
of  about  twenty-four  inches,  has  caused  apprehen- 
sions of  its  falling  ;  and  it  has  been  bandaged  and 
strengthened,  for  it  is  boldly  poised  on  four  arches 
thrown  across  the  angles  of  the  tower,  and  clamped 
with  iron.  The  walls  of  this  tower  itself  are  only 
two  feet  in  thickness.  Salisbury  Cathedral  from 
foundation  stone  to  spire-point,  is  perhaps  the  most 
perfect  specimen  that  exists  of  the  "  Early  Eng- 
lish "  style.  Its  first  stone  was  laid  in  1220,  and 
it  was  hardly  finished  in  the  reign  of  Edward  III., 
somewhere  about  the  middle  of  the  14th  century. 
It  is  built  of  Chilmark  stone  obtained  fifteen  miles 
from  Salisbury,  and  is  in  the  form  of  a  double  cross. 
Its  majestic  west  front  is  covered  with  the  finest 
tracery  work,  and  has  one  hundred  and  twenty- 
three  niches  for  statues,  most  of  them  now  empty. 
Its  interior,  compared  with  Winchester  or  Ely,  is 
severe  and  bare,  but  harmonious.  It  is  not  an 
astonishing  irregular  Gothic  epic,  but  a  pure  Eng- 
lish poem.  The  columns  are  clustered  and  slender ; 
the  windows  are  lancet-shaped  and  the  mouldings 
plain.  The  length  is  four  hundred  and  forty-nine 
feet ;  and  stretched  along  on  eithor  side  of  this 
grandly  extended  nave  lie  the  effigies  of  heroes  who 
fought  in  the  Holy  Land,  carved  with   their  legi 


SOUTHAMPTON  TO   SALISBURY.  349 

trossed,  and  with  broad  shields  on  their  breasts  ; 
and  those  also  who  contended  in  the  ancient  bloody- 
civil  wars,  their  gorgeous  blazonry  gone,  and  some 
of  the  figures  headless  and  handless,  but  brave  still 
in  their  wide  girdles  and  chain  armor. 

The  tomb  of  William  Longsword,  first  Earl  of 
Salisbury,  son  of  Henry  II.  and  Fair  Rosamond, 
has  been  especially  battered  by  time.  The  Count- 
ess of  Pembroke,  upon  whom  Ben  Jonson  wrote 
the  epitaph,  is  buried  in  the  east  choir  of  the  Ca- 
thedral.    The  place  is  not  marked  by  a  monument. 

The  Chapter  House,  on  the  south  side  of  the 
church,  supported  gracefully  by  one  slight  spring- 
ing column  of  Purbeck  marble,  as  if  it  were  a 
slender  fount  in  stone,  shines  richly  with  modern 
gilding  and  colors.  It  has  been  carefully  restored. 
The  architect  supposes  that  he  has  authority  for 
this  high  coloring  and  gilding,  from  having  detected 
the  traces  of  ancient  colors  here  and  there  upon  the 
carved  work  ;  but  I  agree  entirely  with  the  remark 
of  a  friend,  who  said,  "  I  doubt  whether  the  room 
ever  looked  half  so  gorgeous  in  the  olden  time  as 
now. 

A  series  of  old  sculptures  in  alto-relievo  of  Bibli- 
cal scenes,  runs  around  the  apartment  below  the 
windows,  and  is  surprisingly  ingenious  and  elabo- 
\  ate.  The  same  patience  and  faithfulness  are  shown 
in  them  that  we  see  in  ancient  missals,  and  often 
the  same  exquisite  purity  of  expression.  Besides 
these,  on  the  face  of  the  archivolt  are  a  number  of 
lllegoncal  figures  representing  the  "  Virtues  "  and 


650  OLD  ENGLAND. 

M  Vices,"  which  for  delicacy  and  power  called  forth 
the  admiration  of  Flaxman.  Despair  presses  liia 
hand  on  his  heart  like  the  condemned  spirits  in 
Beckford's  Hall  of  Eblis,  and  Pity  throws  a  cloak 
over  one  who  is  slaying  her  with  a  sword. 

On  the  Cathedral  door,  as  may  be  everywhere 
seen  on  parish  church  doors  in  England,  were 
pasted  notices  in  large  letters  of  "  Income  Tax  — 
Land  Tax  —  Assessed  Taxes  in  this  liberty." 

Let  us  take  a  walk  of  three  miles  or  so  out  to 
u  Wilton  House,"  through  the  Fisherton  suburb 
crossing  the  Avon,  and  we  will  stop  first  at  Bemer- 
ton,  about  two  miles  from  the  city.  In  this  obscure 
village  George  Herbert  lived  and  labored,  following 
out  his  own  words,  — 

"  Be  useful  where  thou  livest" 

It  was  while  walking  over  this  very  road,  Izaak 
Walton  relates,  that  Herbert  stopped  to  aid  a  coun- 
tryman whose  cart  had  been  upset,  and  for  this 
reason  arrived  late  and  dirty  at  a  social  musical 
meeting  of  his  friends  and  brother  clergymen  in 
Salisbury ;  upon  being  rallied  for  such  an  unseemly 
operation,  he  said  that,  "  the  thought  of  what  he 
had  done  would  prove  music  to  him  at  midnight." 

Turning  off  the  main  road  down  a  quiet  lane,  on 
one  side  of  which  is  a  thick  wood,  is  the  little  church 
of  Bemerton,  somewhat  larger  than  St.  Lawrence 
Church  on  the  Isle  of  Wight,  but  they  would  match 
pretty  well  for  smallness  and  humility.  It  has  one 
minute  window  upon  a  side,  four  tiny  buttresses,  4 
red-tiled  roof,  and  a  low  flat  cupola  with  a  vane 


SOUTHAMPTON  TO   SALISBURY.  351 

in  the  interior  are  seven  pews  on  each  side  of  the 
narrow  aisle,  and  a  gallery  for  the  choir. 

Almost  within  sight  of  the  proud  mansion  cf  his 
own  illustrious  Pembroke  family,  here  the  Rector 
of  Bermerton,  and  the  glory  of  Trinity  College, 
Cambridge,  fed  his  illiterate  flock.  And  he  hes- 
itated long  before  he  assumed  even  this  humble  post, 
so  that  a  tailor  happening  to  be  at  Wilton  House, 
bo  says  Izaak  Walton,  made  his  canonicals  in  great 
haste,  he  putting  off  his  fine  silken  clothes  and  his 
sword  to  assume  them.  Yellow  tottering  grave- 
stones stand  around  this  diminutive  edifice  and 
crowd  up  under  its  shadow,  and  within  its  lowly 
walls,  under  the  altar-table,  Herbert  was  buried. 
He  taught  us  that  a  man  is  made  no  greater  nor 
less  by  his  place.  He  is  what  he  is  in  himself. 
Nothing;  can  lower  him  if  his  heart  be  above. 
Does  his  own  poor  earthly  life  lie  buried  here,  — 

"  Gone 
Quite  underground ;  as  flowers  depart 
To  see  their  motJer-root  when  they  have  blown  i*  " 

Yet  that  sweet,  Christ-like  soul,  now  "  past  chang 
ng,"  sings :  — 

"  I  bud  again." 

The  parsonage  where  Herbert  lived  stands  just 
across  the  little  lane  that  runs  by  the  side  of  the 
church.  His  own  studv  is  shown.  I  noticed  no 
other  houses  immediately  around.  A  larger  church 
's  to  be  erected  near  by,  by  the  Herbert  family,  to 
bear  the  name  of  the  poet.  Sweeter  than  ever 
o  me  since  this  vis.'.t  to   Bemerton   have  George 


852  OLD  ENGLAND. 

Herbert's  poems  with  all  their  odd  conceits  grown, 
and,  above  all,  that  gem  :  — 

"  Teach  me,  my  Lord  and  King, 
In  all  things  Thee  to  see ; 
And  what  I  do  in  any  thing 
To  do  it  as  for  Thee. 

All  may  of  Thee  partake ; 

Nothing  can  be  so  mean, 
But  for  this  tincture  (for  thy  sake) 

Will  not  grow  bright  and  clean. 

This  is  the  famous  stone 

That  turneth  all  to  gold : 
For  that  which  God  doth  touch  and  own 

Cannot  for  lesse  be  told !  " 

Somewhat  further  to  the  west,  at  the  entrance  of 
Wilton  town,  in  the  bosom  of  a  magnificent  park, 
Btands  Wilton  House.  It  was  built  from  designs  of 
Holbein  and  Inigo  Jones,  upon  the  site  of  a  Bene- 
dictine Abbey,  granted  by  Henry  VIII.  to  Sir  Wil- 
.iam  Herbert.  It  is  indeed  a  palace,  but  has  some- 
thing grave  and  sober  about  it.  Its  fair  stateliness 
could  not  be  more  precisely  described  than  in  the 
lines  of  Wordsworth  :  — 

"  Like  image  of  solemnity  conjoined 
With  feminine  allurement  soft  and  fair 
The  mansion's  self  displayed  :  a  reverend  pile 
With  bold  projections  and  recesses  deep; 
Shadowy  yet  gay  and  lightsome  as  it  stood 
Fronting  the  noon-tide  sun.    We  paused  to  admire 
The  pillared  porch,  elaborately  embossed ; 
The  low  wide  windows  with  their  mullions  old: 
The  cornice  richly  fretted  of  gray  stone ; 
And  that  smooth  slope  from  which  the  dwelRng  rose, 
By  beds  and  banks  Arcadian  of  gay  flowers 
And  flowering  shrubs,  protected  and  adorned. 


SOUTHAMPTON   TO   SALISBURY.  863 

Profusion  bright !  and  every  flower  assuming 
A  more  than  natural  vividness  of  hue, 
From  unaffected  contrast  with  the  gloom 
Of  sober  cypress,  and  the  darker  foil 
Of  yew,  in  which  survived  some  traces,  here 
Not  unbecoming,  of  grotesque  device 
And  uncouth  fancy.     From  behind  the  roof 
Rose  the  slim  ash  and  massy  sycamore, 
Blending  their  diverse  foliage  with  the  green 
Of  ivy,  flourishing  and  thick,  that  clasped 
The  huge  round  chimneys,  harbors  of  delight 
For  wren  and  redbreast,  where  they  sit  and  sing 
Their  slender  ditties  when  the  trees  are  bare." 

The  trees  are  of  great  variety  and  noble  growth. 
One  sweeping  ilex  has  its  branches  supported  by 
chains.  A  group  of  cedars  of  Lebanon,  towering 
in  massy  chambers  of  foliage,  gives  an  almost  Ital- 
ian, or  Oriental,  shading  to  the  picture.  The  river 
Nadder,  which  flows  through  the  park,  is  crossed 
by  a  bridge  in  the  grounds.  In  these  quiet  shades 
Sir  Philip  Sidney  wrote  his  "  Arcadia,"  —  it  is 
said,  for  his  sister's  pleasure  and  amusement. 

The  suite  of  state  apartments,  though  superb, 
looked  comfortable  and  as  if  they  were  lived  in. 
It  was  not  a  show-palace.  In  the  "  double  cube 
room,"  is  the  noted  collection  of  Vandykes,  most 
of  them  portraits  of  the  Pembroke  family.  There 
was  one  striking  picture  of  Prince  Rupert,  as  a 
youth,  calm  and  beautiful,  with  none  of  the  dash- 
ing cavalier  about  it,  but  a  determined  look  in  the 
arge  brown  eyes.  I  did  not  notice  any  portrait  of 
Sir  Philip  Sidney,  or  of  George  Herbert.  They 
must,  however,  have  been  there.  A  small  likeness 
•f  Florence  Nightingale,  of  whom  La'ly  Herbert 

23 


354  OLD  ENGLAND. 

is  said  to  be    a   particular  friend   and    co-laborer, 
stood  upon  a  side-table. 

It  is  a  luxurious  apartment  as  far  as  the  opu- 
lence of  the  furniture  is  concerned,  but  that  is  not 
the  real  feature  of  the  room.  I  do  not  dwell  upon 
the  age-darkened  and  highly  carved  furniture,  the 
splendid  mirrors,  the  antique  marbles,  the  princely 
books,  the  pictures,  and  the  hundred  objects  of  or- 
nament and  taste  about  the  room,  for  every  thing 
is  so  harmoniously  placed  that  nothing  arrested 
attention  ;  but  there  is  an  aesthetic  charm  in  the 
apartment,  which  does  not  allow  one  to  think  of 
material  magnificence.  It  is  a  room  worthy  of  a 
noble  mind  to  take  its  ease  in,  to  make  itself  at 
home  in.  There  is  no  cold  splendor  to  be  warmed 
up  twice  a  year  on  the  eve  of  a  great  ball,  but  a 
uense  of  perpetual  ease  and  enjoyment,  a  spot 
lighted  with  tokens  of  affection  and  friendship,  and 
with  all  that  is  soothing  and  ennobling. 

From  the  grounds  in  front  of  the  house,  the  glo- 
rious spire  of  Salisbury  Cathedral  is  seen  through  a 
skillfully  made  opening  in  the  thick  screen  of  trees. 

The  Lombard  Gothic  church  erected  by  Sir  Sid- 
ney Herbert  in  Wilton,  with  its  square  bell-tower, 
as  a  family  memorial  church,  is  one  of  the  most 
gorgeous  modern  structures  in  England.  It  seems 
as  if  Italy  and  the  Continent  had  been  rifled  of 
architectural  jewels  to  enrich  it.  Its  brilliant  mo- 
saic pulpit  of  Caen  stone,  its  white  vine-wreathed 
columns,  its  gleaming  brasses,  its  blue  and  gold 
frescos,  its  great  sparkling  rosette  windows,  and  its 


SOUTHAMPTON  TO   SALISBURY.  355 

Antique  fonts,  transport  one  from  the  little  English 
carpet  manufacturing  town,  to  Siena  or  Rome. 
Along  the  top  of  the  screen  are  carved  the  words, 
''  All  things  come  of  Thee,  and  of  Thine  own  we 
have  given  Thee."  It  seemed,  however,  too  rich 
tor  the  place,  and  had  to  me  a  foreign  and  un- 
English  look. 

Wilton  itself  is  a  very  ancient  town,  once  the 
capital  of  the  West  Saxon  kingdom  ;  but  it  was 
overshadowed  by  the  growth  of  Salisbury.  It  was 
a  favorite  town  of  Charles  I.  The  first  carpet  ever 
made  in  England  was  here  manufactured.  Massin- 
ger  is  said  to  have  been  born  at  Wilton. 

Twelve  miles  from  Wilton,  near  Hindon,  is 
"  Fonthill  Abbey,"  now  owned  by  the  Marquis  of 
Westminster,  where  Beckford  spent  twenty  years 
and  regal  revenues  in  building  his  jealously  in-- 
walled  Kubla-Khan  palace,  employing  a  little  army 
of  workmen  night  and  day.  The  gigantic  tower 
of  his  selfish  pleasure  and  pride  crumbled,  like  the 
tower  of  Babel,  as  if  it  had  been  smitten  by  an  in- 
visible hand.  I  ascended  another  Saracenic  tower 
erected  by  him  at  Bath,  from  which  one  could 
almost  have  seen  among  the  green  Wiltshire  hills, 
this  more  Titanic  monument  of  a  depraved  egotism 
*nd  prostituted  genius. 

I  have  left  little  room  for  the  two  most  inter- 
esting places,  to  an  antiquarian,  in  the  whole  Salis- 
pury  circle,  old  Sarum  and  Stonehenge. 

Fortified  with  a  breakfast  of  hot  coffee  and  muf- 
fins, for  this  is  wild  weather,  we  will  tramp  off  to 


356  OLD  ENGLAND. 

Bcramble  over  the  site  of  that  ancient  Saxon  city 
"  Old  Sarum,"  the    germ    of  "  New    Sarum,"   of 
Salisbury. 

It  lies  within  sight  of  Salisbury,  about  two  miles 
distant,  and  is  simply  a  hill  cut  into  great  steps  cr 
terraces,  looking  like  a  modern  sand-fort,  or  a  huge 
mound  which  suggests  more  than  it  reveals.  Back 
to  the  time  of  the  early  Britons  this  hill  was  a  for- 
tified spot ;  the  Romans  made  it  a  great  military 
centre,  and  six  roads  radiated  from  it ;  in  the  time 
of  Alfred  it  was  a  strong  city ;  under  the  Norman 
kings  it  attained  great  ecclesiastical  splendor  and  im- 
portance, two  bishoprics  being  blended  here  in  one  ; 
but  in  the  reign  of  King  John,  its  bishop,  Herbert 
Poore,  determined  to  come  down  into  the  plain  and 
establish  his  ecclesiastical  seat  there.  This  was  the 
death-blow  to  Old  Sarum.  Gradually  all  the  in- 
habitants followed  him  and  gathered  around  the 
risino-  walls  of  the  new  "  House  of  God  "  in  the 
plain  below.  This  new  house  was  itself  built  of 
the  stones  of  the  old  cathedal.  The  circular  for- 
tress which  once  crowned  the  hill,  whose  walla 
comprised  a  space  of  fifteen  hundred  feet  in  circum- 
ference, is  now  reduced  to  a  ragged  mass  of  flint 
and  rubble,  which  hangs  tottering  upon  the  edge 
of  the  height.  This  broken  fragment  is  all  that 
really  remains  of  this  once  powerful  city  of  Celt, 
Roman,  and  Saxon.  The  hollow  of  an  ancient 
ditch  runs  around  what  was  the  line  of  the  cita« 
del  walls.  I  startled  numerous  rabbits  in  running 
around  the  hill,  and  from  a  gloomy  tangle  of  foliage 


SOUTHAMPTON  TO  SALISBURY.  357 

that  filled  one  part  of  the  ditch,  an  owl  whirred 
away  ;  it  is  a  desolate  spot,  although  a  little  cul- 
tivation smooths  one  side  of  the  first  terrace. 
Until  the  passage  of  the  Reform  Bill,  the  election 
of  the  members  from  Old  Sarum  —  which  Wil- 
liam Pitt  so  long  represented  —  took  place  under 
a  "  wych-elm  "  that  marked  the  site  of  the  an- 
cient Town  House.  There  is  a  wide  view  from  the 
top  of  this  discrowned  hill,  in  which  Salisbury  Ca- 
thedral spire  forms  the  marked  feature. 

Stonehenge  !  I  am  not  going  to  add  another  to 
the  many  learned  theories  which  lie  strewed  at  its 
base,  like  rusty  tools  broken  against  its  granite 
walls ;  for  when  we  know  who  built  "  Tadmor  in 
the  wilderness,"  we  may  know  who  heaved  up  this 
rude  circle  on  Salisbury  Plain. 

This  mysterious  monument  lies  eight  and  a  half  <*c— «* 
miles  to  the  northwest  of  Salisbury.  In  coming  c^-^-*" 
to  it  one  passes  over  a  wide,  slightly  undulating, 
and  thinly  grassed  chalk  marl-down,  where  now 
and  then  a  weather-beaten  "  Shepherd  of  Salis- 
bury Plain  "  may  be  seen  sitting  with  his  dog  and 
BtafF,  and  his  flock  feeding  near  him.  In  some 
directions  one  may  ride  twenty  miles  on  the  plain 
without  seeino;  a  house  or  human  beinor  It  is  not 
until  one  strikes  into  the  clearly  defined  ancient 
wenue  that  leads  up  to  Stonehenge,  and  gets 
pretty  near  the  monument  itself,  that  its  vast  skele- 
ton form  can  be  seen  looming  over  the  hillocks. 
There  is  said  to  be  a  gradual  ascent  to  it  from  every 
direction.    As  one  approaches  the  temple,  the  plain 


>^y- 


358  OLD  ENGLAND. 

is  filled  with  green  circles  and  round  barrows,  as 
if  it  were  the  burial-place  of  a  numerous  nation. 
Some  of  these  mounds  have  been  opened,  and  con- 
tain the  evidences  of  primitive  sepulture.  The 
Celtic  "  cyrch,"  or  cirque,  or  circle,  the  national 
sacred  place  of  burial,  is  said  to  have  been  the  ori- 
f^  gin  of  the  word  "  kirk." 

The  sky  had  a  threatening  look,  the  heavy  clouds 
drooped  low,  and  the  gusty  autumn  wind  swept  in 
melancholy  cadences  over  the  plain,  as  I  saw  before 
me  this  oldest  structure  now  standing  in  England, 
•  -  this  solemn  circle  of  un  wrought  stones,  out  of 
whose  rocky  loins  have  come  forth  her  life,  art,  and 
history. 

"  Stonehenge  "  is  a  Saxon  name,  meaning  "  hang- 
ing stone,"  descriptive  of  the  blocks  of  stone  im- 
posed transversely  upon  perpendicular  masses. 
The  Britons  and  Druids  had  another  name  for  it. 
It  was  probably,  like  the  great  temple  at  Avebury, 
in  Wiltshire,  a  hypethral  temple,  even  to  the  inner 
circle  or  adytum,  where  is  the  sacrificial  altar- 
stone. 

It  is  a  circle  within  a  circle.  First  comes  an 
outer  trench  three  hundred  and  sixty-nine  yards  in 
circumference.  Then  a  circle  of  sixty  stones,  com- 
posed of  thirty  perpendiculars  and  thirty  imposts, 
fastened  by  rude  mortice  and  tenon,  and  forming  a 
continuous  architrave,  the  uprights  being  twenty 
feet  high  and  four  feet  apart.  Then  a  second  con- 
centric circle  of  thirty  smaller  stone3  without  im- 
posts ;  and  then  two  ovals  of  huge  uprights  witb 


SOUTHAMPTON  TO  SALISBURY.  359 

imposts,  forming  perhaps  the  real  body  of  the  tem- 
ple. In  the  inner  oval  is  the  altar-stone,  a  block 
of  hard  gray  Derbyshire  marble.  The  other  rock 
masses  are  of  crumbling  siliceous  grit.  The  entire 
number  of  stones  was  originally  one  hundred  and 
forty.  Of  course  many  of  these  have  disappeared, 
and  many  have  fallen.  A  gigantic  trilithon  recently 
fell  with  a  force  that  shook  the  plain. 

The  stones  taper  somewhat  to  the  top,  and  bear 
but  rude  marks  of  the  chisel  and  hammer.  Yet  there 
is  a  mathematical  unity  of  plan  in  the  structure. 
It  is  the  thoughtful  work  of  a  rough  strong  people. 
But  where  did  these  great  masses  come  from  on  that 
stoneless  plain?  And  how  were  they  transported 
thither?  The  character  of  some  of  them  differs 
entirely  from  the  rocks  of  the  region. 

I  feel  much  inclined  to  adopt  a  theory  lately  put 
forth  concerning  the  origin  of  Stonehenge  ;  that  it 
was  built  by  the  Celts,  or  native  Britons,  in  the 
Arthurian  period,  or  the  fifth  century  a.  d.,  as  a 
sepulchral  temple,  to  commemorate  the  treacherous 
slaughter  of  the  Celts  by  Henghist  in  461 ;  that  it 
means  "  Stone  of  Henghist." 

In  all  ancient  nations  of  Celtic  origin  on  the 
Continent,  and  even  to  the  centre  of  Asia,  circles 
inclose  sacred  spots.  The  form  of  the  Buddhist 
temple  is  always  circular. 

Stonehenge  could  hardly  have  been  a  Druidic 
temple,  because  here  is,  and  has  been,  no  grove  in 
which  to  perform  the  secret  Druidic  rites,  or  to  cut 
the  mistletoe  with  the  golden  knife. 


860  OLD  ENGLAXD. 

And  this  locality  was  evidently  the  ancient  national 
British  burial-place,  although  no  signs  of  sepulture 
are  discovered  immediately  in  or  under  the  temple  ; 
yet  an  immense  number  of  "  barrows  "  or  sepul- 
chral mounds  are  found  not  far  from  it,  and  indeed 
everywhere  upon  the  plain. 

Merlin  himself  might  have  built  it,  for  he  was 
evidently  the  poet,  artist,  and  philosopher  of  that 
period. 

Harmless  sheep  feed  quietly  under  this  mighty 
solitary  form  of  barbarian  power.  A  rough  shep- 
herd clad  in  skins,  with  hay  leggins  and  a  long 
staff",  standing  in  the  shadow  of  one  of  the  colossal 
pillars,  told  me  the  story  of  the  place  as  it  was  told 
to  him  by  his  fathers,  and  will  doubtless  be  told  to 
others  by  his  shepherd  sons. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

SOUTH  DEVON  AND  TORQUAY. 

By  one  route  from  Southampton  to  Exeter, 
which  I  had  previously  taken,  I  passed  through  a 
portion  of  the  "New  Forest,"  looking  like  unset- 
tled land  in  America,  and  stayed  a  night  at  the 
dull  old  town  of  Dorchester,  in  Dorsetshire.  The 
new  line  of  railway  from  Dorchester  passes  through 
the  beautiful  Axminster  and  Honiton  Valley,  near 
Ottery  St.  Mary,  where  Coleridge  was  born.  His 
father  was  vicar  of  the  Collegiate  Church  there. 
From  this  town  of  Dorchester  the  "  Dorchester 
Adventurers  Company  "  was  formed,  that  settled 
Gloucester,  Salem,  Charlestown,  Dorchester,  and 
other  towns  in  Massachusetts.  Dorsetshire,  and 
Devonshire,  and  all  Southern  England,  in  those 
days,  contained  a  strong  element  of  Puritanism,  and 
formed  perhaps  the  chief  source  of  supply  to  the 
Massachusetts  colonies,  after  the  settlement  of  New 
Plymouth. 

In  going  to  Exeter  by  the  other  route,  I  was 
cbliged  to  wait  an  hour  or  two  in  the  little  agricul- 
tural town  of  Yeovil.  It  was  a  rainy  cold  day,  and 
m  the  bit  of  the  tap-room  where  I  dried  my  wet 
dcthes,  the  burly  farmers  and  drovers  came  in  to 


862  OLD  ENGLAND. 

drink  their  hot  mulled  wine,  and  talk  over  the 
storm  and  cattle  market,  while  paddling  armies  of 
sheep  and  frightened  cows,  and  now  and  then  an 
ugly  red-eyed  bull,  went  by  the  windows.  It  was 
"  Fair  Day."  I  walked  through  the  cattle-stalls, 
and  saw  some  noble  Devonshire  oxen  and  cow?. 
The  beef,  with  such  layers  and  collops  of  yellow 
fat,  that  one  sees  hanging  up  in  English  butchers' 
r^.  stalls,  I  saw  here  in  its  sleek  amiable  living  state. 
Devonshire  cattle  rather  take  the  lead  of  fine  cattle 
in  England.  Perhaps  the  finest  specimens  of  them 
are  found  in  North  Devon  on  the  Bristol  side. 
They  are  thus  described,  and  the  very  particularity 
of  the  description  will  show  how  much  is  thought 
of  such  points :  "  The  Devonshire  bull  has  the 
S  head  small ;  the  muzzle  fine  ;  the  nostrils  ample  ; 

the  horns  tapering,  and  of  a  waxy  yellow ;  the  eyes 
large  and  clear  ;  the  neck  thick  and  arched  above 
with  little  dewlap  ;  the  chest  is  broad  and  deep ; 
the  breast  prominent ;  the  limbs  fine  boned  ;  the 
fore-arm  muscular ;  the  hips  are  high,  and  the 
hind-quarters  well  filled  up ;  the  thighs  are  volumi- 
nous ;  the  tail  long,  slender,  set  on  high,  and  tufted 
at  the  extremity.  The  ox  is  taller  and  more  light- 
'y  made,  with  fine  withers  and  a  slanting  shoulder ; 
-he  breast  is  prominent ;  the  limbs  are  fine-boned, 
muscular,  and  straight,  but  rather  long  ;  the  neck, 
too,  is  thin  and  rather  long,  the  head  small,  the 
muzzle  fine  ;  the  horns  longer  than  in  the  bull, 
Blender  and  tapering.  The  whole  form  indeed  in 
dicates  activity  and  freedom  of  action.     The  sktB 


SOUTH  DEVON  AND  TORQUAY.      363 

ts  moderate  and  covered  with  mossy  or  curling 
hair ;  but  occasionally  it  is  smooth  and  glossy. 
The  color  is  universally  red,  chestnut,  or  bay, 
seldom  varied  with  white  ;  a  paler  space  surrounds 
the  eye,  and  the  muzzle  of  yellow."  The  cow  is 
lighter  and  full  of  action  and  life.  Though  they 
do  not  attain  to  the  elephantine  size  of  some  of  the 
larger  breeds,  they  lay  on  flesh  rapidly,  and  of  the 
finest  grain.  The  cows,  grass-fed,  weigh  from 
thirty  stone  to  forty  stone.  The  oxen  weigh  from 
fifty  stone  to  upwards  of  sixty  stone.  Hundreds 
of  these  fine  red  fellows  may  be  seen  along  the 
railroad  track,  cropping  the  green  meadows,  or 
lying  under  the  broad-armed  trees.  England  is 
green  all  the  year  round  ;  and  no  country  in  the 
world  has  such  grass-feed  as  this  misty  island  has. 
And  in  no  other  land  have  there  been  such  persist- 
ent and  scientific  efforts  for  the  perfection  of  do- 
mestic cattle.  Breeds  have  been  made  over  and 
Dver  till  they  are  as  perfect  for  this  or  that  quality 
as  Nature  seems  willing  to  make  them.  A  York- 
shire cow  is  as  different  from  a  Devonshire  cow  as 
are  the  dialects  of  the  two  counties,  and  a  little 
Kerry  ox  by  the  side  of  a  big,  coarse  Herefordshire 
ox,  is  a  small  rattling  Pat,  compared  with  a  huge, 
slow-revolving,  slow-motioned  Englishman. 

In  the  ride  from  Durston,  through  Wellington, 
Tiverton  and  Heie,  on  the  Bristol  and  Exeter  Rail- 
road, true  Devonshire  scenery  began  to  make  its 
tppearance,  and  the  rich  green  hill-slopes,  narrow 
ralleys,  and  the  red  clay,  showed  thai  we  were  in 
*  Dark  Devon." 


864  OLD  ENGLAND. 

The  Ions:  red  cliffs  rising  from  the  Exe  River,  on 
which  fair  Exeter  stands,  gave  a  warm  tint  to  the 
beautiful  scenery  around  that  old  ecclesiastical  city  , 
and  already  the  cold  raw  air  and  driving  rain  of 
the  north  began  to  be  subdued  into  a  moist  drizzly 
mildness,  as  if  one  had  come  suddenly  into  a  new 
zone. 

At  the  snug  old-fashioned  "  Clarence  Hotel," 
near  the  cathedral  yard,  I  passed  several  days.  It 
was  now  the  beginning  of  the  fox-hunting  season, 
and  the  "  Clarence "  was  the  headquarters  of  a 
jovial  young  nobleman  with  his  friends  and  retain- 
ers, who  sallied  forth  to  the  "  Grand  Meet "  in  the 
morning,  in  great  pomp  of  scarlet  coats,  white- 
topped  boots,  velvet  jockey-caps,  yellow  breeches, 
and  heavy  whips,  to  return  well  bespattered  and 
hungry  for  a  feasting,  roaring  night.  All  England 
is  on  horseback  at  this  season.  Every  one  is  mad  to 
break  his  neck,  or  at  least  his  collar-bone.  There 
seems  to  be  no  affectation  in  this  love  of  hunting. 
A  free-spoken  Englishman  told  me  that  he  had 
been  to  California  and  Australia,  had  traveled  all 
-ver  the  world,  had  seen  all  kinds  of  life,  had 
gambled  and  fought,  and  there  was  but  just  one 
thins  left  now  that  roused  him,  and  that  was  fox- 
hunting  I 

The  days  of  "  fox-hunting  parsons "  have  not 
altogether  gone  by.  I  cut  out  a  piece  from  an 
English  newspaper  about  this  time,  describing  the 
presentation  of  a  testimonial  to  a  clergyman  ir 
Devonshire,  who,  for  many  years,  had  discharged 


SOUTH  DEVON"  AND  TORQUAY.      365 

fche  duties  of  a  master  of  hounds  in  his  district. 
In  every  English  town  at  this  season  large  red 
hunting  horses,  with  their  sides  literally  flashing 
from  high  grooming,  with  quick-moving  ears  and 
springy  step,  may  be  seen  ridden  slowly  through 
the  streets  by  their  diminutive  grooms.  Such 
gaunt  greyhounds  of  horses,  with  pinched  bellies 
and  straight  rail-necks,  may  have  reached  the 
maximum  of  speed,  but  they  have  also  attained  the 
minimum  of  beauty.  How  different  the  Arab's 
estimate  of  beauty  and  excellence  in  a  horse,  ac- 
cording to  Dr.  Barth,  in  the  Oriental  description 
which  he  translates  of  the  steeds  of  heaven  :  — 
"  Sleek  swift  horses,  coursers  trained  to  run,  tall 
piebalds,  five-year  olds,  fleet,  wide-stepping,  apple- 
rumped,  plump,  long-boned,  strong  in  back  and 
neck,  Arabian  blood  horses  of  El  Hodh,  that  are 
fed  upon  cooling  milk." 

Exeter  is  a  large  and  stately  city.  Devonshire 
and  Cornwall  form  one  Episcopal  See,  whose  seat 
is  at  Exeter,  and  ecclesiastically,  socially,  and  com- 
mercially, it  is  the  principal  city  of  these  two  coun- 
ties, and  of  Southern  England.  It  has  been  some- 
what impoverished  by  railway  speculation,  as  the 
ioad  to  Plymouth  was  enormously  expensive.  By 
means  of  "  locks,"  small  vessels  can  come  up  tc 
Exeter,  whose  real  port  is  Exmouth,  ten  miles 
below.  High  Street,  which  runs  under  different 
names  through  the  whole  ler.gtb  of  the  city,  is  a 
broad  and  in  some  parts  elegant  stre°t,  containing 
»he  most  attractive  art-shops,  and  book-shops,  and 


86G  OLD  ENGLAND. 

hunting-shops,  of  any  street  of  a  smaller  sized  city 
in  England ;  it  crosses  the  river  Exe  by  a  hand- 
some stone  bridge  ;  the  old  "  Guildhall,"  which 
stands  midway  upon  it,  looks  like  a  bit  of  quaint 
Flemish  architecture,  or  like  an  ancient,  black, 
elaborately  carved  sideboard. 

Exeter  is  the  city  of  churches.  The  Cathedral, 
as  usual,  crowns  all,  and  presents  a  noble  appear 
ance  when  seen  from  the  other  side  of  the  river, 
standing  loftily  upon  its  hill-bank,  with  its  two 
massive  Norman  towers.  It  does  not  belong  to 
the  first  class  of  English  cathedrals  in  point  of 
size,  but  it  has  some  peculiarly  rich  features,  of 
which  the  singular  fleur-de-lys  ornament  of  the 
roof  is  an  instance.  Its  two  Norman  towers  of 
which  I  have  spoken  were  built  in  the  twelfth  cen- 
tury, and  the  rest  of  the  edifice  belongs  to  a  date 
considerably  later  than  that.  The  superb  stone 
vaulting  of  the  nave  is  of  the  deepest  and  most 
harmonious  fan-tracery  style,  branching  as  if  with 
living  stems  from  lightly  clustered  columns  and 
drooping  in  heavy  corbels  and  bosses  like  verita- 
ble bunches  of  fruit.  It  is  like  standing  under  a 
young  grove  of  low  raying  palms,  compared  with 
whose  gorgeous  tropical  luxuriance,  the  nave  of 
Salisbury  Cathedral  in  its  pure  simplicity  is  quite 
frozen  and  arctic.  And  other  parts  of  the  Cathe- 
dral have  the  same  richness  of  detail ;  the  windows 
especially,  of  an  elaborately  geometrical  character, 
are  wonderful  for  the  variety  of  their  tracery  work, 
never  repeating  the  same  designs.     The  front  it 


S0UT1I  DEV03    AND   TORQUAY.  367 

renowned  for  its  magnificent  stone  screen  of  the 
Snest  work,  called  "  The  Grandisson  screen,"  which 
is  thrown  like  a  lace  veil  suspended  over  the  actual 
dead  wall  of  the  edifice  ;  and  this  is  wrought  into 
columns,  porches,  niches,  and  statues  of  martyrs, 
saints,  and  kings  ;  while  above  is  the  great  west 
window,  and  above  that  a  gigantic  statue  of  St. 
Peter,  from  whom  the  church  is  named.  These 
statues,  though  sadly  mutilated,  are  by  no  means 
badly  carved,  and  may  some  of  them  have  been 
portraits ;  one  old  Wessex  king,  I  remember,  had 
a  nose  as  decisive  of  fate  as  the  Duke  of  Welling- 
ton's. 

There  is  a  boldly  carved  "  Minstrel's  Gallery  " 
on  the  left  side  of  the  nave,  representing  twelve 
angels,  each  playing  upon  a  different  instrument, 
and  when  the  music  of  the  organ  and  the  chanting 
rolls  through  the  vaults  of  the  church,  it  is  not 
difficult  to  imagine  that  it  proceeds  from  this  an- 
gelic minstrelsy. 

In  the  choir,  separated  from  the  nave  by  a  light 
*nd  elegant  organ-screen,  is  the  bishop's  huge 
vhrone  of  carved  black  oak,  towering  pyramidi- 
cally  nearly  to  the  roof;  one  could  not  help  think- 
ing if  the  Apostle  Peter  had  walked  into  the 
church,  would  he  have  seated  himself  in  it,  or 
would  he  have  taken  the  lowest  seat  in  the  syna- 
gogue ?  The  ancient  monkish  "  miserere  seats " 
around  the  choir  are  fanciful  and  grotesque  ;  they 
pold  back  and  show  underneath  them  most  extra- 
rdinary  carvings  —  lions'  heads,  birds,  elephants  ; 


368  OLD  ENGLAND. 

a  boat,  with  an  armed  knight  in  it,  towed  L-j  a 
Bwan ;  a  knight  attacking  a  leopard ;  a  man  stab- 
bing a  bird  ;  a  man  with  pipe  and  tabor ;  a  mer^ 
maid  holding  a  dish  ;  —  and  many  other  designs. 
What  was  the  idea,  I  am  always  asking  myself,  of 
introducing  these  odd  shapes  and  thoughts  into 
what  was  considered  the  most  sacred  part  of  the 
edifice  ? 

The  east  window,  with  some  very  beautiful  frag- 
ments of  ancient  painted  glass  in  it,  is  of  later 
Perpendicular  architecture  ;  the  triplicity  seen  in 
the  arrangement  of  all  its  parts,  is  supposed  to  be 
symbolical  of  the  doctrine  of  the  Trinity. 

A  curious  old  astronomical  clock  in  the  north 
transept  is  inscribed  with  the  solemn  words,  — 
"  Pereunt  et  imputantur." 

The  Services  of  Exeter  Cathedral,  and  its  whole 
ecclesiastical  furnishing,  order,  and  economy,  are 
perhaps  the  most  full  and  gorgeous,  carrying  out 
the  most  perfectly  and  persistently  the  High 
Church  idea  of  worship,  that  are  to  be  found  in 
any  Cathedral  in  England  ;  and  indeed  the  tone  of 
the  city  is  thoroughly  ecclesiastical,  or  pervaded 
with  the  sense  of  the  presiding  idea  of  the  Church 
hierarchy.  The  curfew-bell  tolls  from  the  old 
towers.     The  Cathedral  Services  are  as  follows : 

"I.     Early   Morning,  Daily. 

"  In  the  Lady  Chapel,  at  7  a.  m.  Morning 
Prayers  ;  and  the  Litany  on  Sundays,  Wednesdays, 
tnd  Fridays. 


SOUTH  DEVON  AND  TORQUAY       369 

"  II.     Morning,  Daily. 

"In  the  Choir,  at  10.30  a.  m.  Full  Services 
af  the  day.  The  Holy  Communion  celebrated 
every  Sunday  and  on  Christmas  day. 

"  On  the  Wednesdays  and  Fridays  in  Ember- 
weeks,  a  Lecture  from  the  Chancellor  of  the 
Cathedral. 

"  The  Lord  Bishop  holds  his  Ordination  on  the 
Sundays  after  the  Whitsun  and  September  Ember- 
weeks. 

"  III.    Evening,  Daily. 

"  In  the  Choir  at  3  p.  m.,  except  on  the  Sun- 
days from  Nov.  1st  to  Feb.  2d,  when  it  is  at  2.30 
p.  m.  On  Sundays  the  Service  is  followed  by  a 
Lecture." 

The  present  Cathedral  Establishment  consists  of 
the  Lord  Bishop ;  the  Dean ;  the  seven  Canons ; 
the  twenty-four  Prebendaries ;  the  four  Priest 
Vicars  ;  the  eight  Choir-men,  who  are  Lay  Vicars  ; 
the  six  Secondaries ;  the  ten  Choir-boys ;  the  two 
Vergers ;  and  the  one  Dog-whipper  ! 

In  spite  of  this  large  ecclesiastical  force,  and  the 
great  number  of  other  churches,  Exeter  is  said  to 
be  not  at  all  remarkable  for  its  piety,  morality,  and 
sober  manners.  Many  of  the  clergy  reside  out  of 
the  city,  and  are  away  from  it  excepting  when  their 
presence  is  needed  in  the  public  ministrations ;  in- 
deed, the  missionary  idea  of  active  aggressive  work 
among  th?  hearts  and  lives  of  the  people  did  not 

24 


870  OLD  ENGLAND. 

appear  so  much  to  prevail,  as  the  more  poetic  on« 
of  maintaining  a  perpetual,  dignified,  and  beautifu. 
Church  form,  before  the  eyes  of  the  people  —  but  I 
will  not  criticise  where  any  wish  to  pray. 

On  the  Sabbath,  the  Mayor  of  the  city  was 
present  at  the  Cathedral  Service  in  a  scarlet  dress, 
and  the  City  Recorder  in  a  big  wig ;  and  a  great 
number  of  begownetl  clergy,  officials,  and  boys, 
filled  the  stalls  and  a  large  portion  of  the  choir. 
The  Liturgy  and  Psalms  were  chanted  and  in- 
toned ;  and  when  the  Commandments  were  read, 
the  reader  turned  himself  toward  the  east  window. 
The  preacher,  in  an  otherwise  sensible  discourse, 
dwelt  strongly  upon  the  idea  that  the  real  ingraft- 
ing upon  Christ  was  through  baptism  ;  that  in  this 
way  we  were  made  his  children  and  obtained  en- 
trance into  his  spiritual  kingdom.  No  allusion  at 
all  was  made  to  the  terrific  storm  which  had  been 
sweeping  over  England,  desolating  hundreds  of 
households,  though  its  blasts  hardly  yet  ceased  to 
shake  the  solid  walls  of  the  church  —  and  there 
seemed  to  be  in  fact  no  place  in  the  Service  for  a 
present  and  vital  emergency. 

Quite  near  the  Cathedral,  to  the  south  of  the 
choir,  is  the  Episcopal  Palace,  built  of  red  sand- 
stone, which  has  a  grave  and  almost  gloomy 
look.  Its  doorway  consists  of  an  immense  re- 
cessed arch  ;  the  lawn  about  it  is  beautifully  green 
and  shaven,  and  ornamented  with  dark  laburnums 
English  Bishops  have  commonly  more  than  on6 
palace  —  the  Bishops  of  Winchester  and   London 


SOUTH  DEVON  AND  TORQUAY.  371 

ran  see  the  smoke  of  one  of  their  palaces  from 
the  top  of  the  other.  The  Bishop  of  Exeter  has 
.£5000  salary,  and  holds  also  a  rich  living  as 
Canon  of  Durham,  besides  other  patronages  ;  but 
I  do  not  know  that  he  is  considered  a  particu- 
larly wealthy  prelate.  Indeed,  compared  with  the 
Archbishop  of  Canterbury  who  has  .£15,000,  the 
Archbishop  of  York  and  the  Bishops  of  London 
and  Winchester  who  have  £10,000,  his  income  is 
one  of  the  smallest ;  for  with  the  exception  of  the 
Bishop  of  Durham  who  has  £8000,  and  of  Ely 
who  has  £5500,  all  the  other  English  Bishops 
have  £5000  each,  or  nearly  that  amount.  Yet  the 
lowest  of  these  sums  sounds  very  large  to  Ameri- 
cans, with  whom  all  that  is  paid  for  mere  dignity 
is  considered  to  be  money  thrown  away.  But 
Lord  John  Russell  says  that  there  must  be 
"  prizes  "  in  the  Church. 

Henry  Phillpots,  D.  D.,  Bishop  of  Exeter,  whose 
jurisdiction  extends  over  Devonshire  and  Corn- 
wall, has  been  a  modern  St.  Bernard,  "a  dog  of  the 
Church,"  an  ecclesiastical  champion  and  athlete, 
and  in  his  controversy  with  Lord  Brougham  on 
points  of  English  Church  History,  and  in  defense 
of  Church  rights,  he  showed  himself,  as  far  as  force 
and  skill  are  concerned,  worthy  of  the  palmiest 
days  of  Catholic  Rome.  The  making  of  a  great 
lawyer  was  spoiled  in  him.  He  is  now  I  believe 
incapacitated  by  his  great  age  from  active  duty, 
Mid  is  aided  by  a  colleague  recently  appointed. 

In  my   frequent  walks  about    Exeter,  I    fell   in 


872  OLD  ENGLAND. 

with  more  than  one  grave-looking  clerical  gentle- 
man with  black  frock-coat  cut  long,  black  gloves, 
and  black  cane,  and  broad-brimmed  hat  slightly 
curled  up  on  one  side,  walking  with  dignified  slow- 
ness, doubtless  a  reverend  canon  or  prebend  ;  and 
I  must  confess,  that  from  some  cause  or  other, 
Exeter  gave  me  now  and  then  a  shadowy  Roman 
Catholic  impression,  which  the  broad  honest  red 
faces  and  hearty  voices  of  the  common  English 
people  just  as  instantly  dispelled. 

The  walks  about  Exeter  are  lovely.  One  long 
steep  hill,  leading  to  what  is  called  "  Pennsylva- 
nia or  Marypole  Head,"  gives  one  a  charming  pano- 
rama. Trudging  up  this  hill,  I  met  an  old  woman 
holding  her  hand  on  her  heart ;  I  asked  her  if  she 
were  tired  ;  "  Yes,"  she  said,  "  very  tired  ; "  this 
is  what  they  called  "  Break-heart  Hill." 

The  view  from  the  top  of  this  hill  takes  in  the 
city  with  its  long  dark  Cathedral  pile  dominating 
over  all ;  the  vale  of  the  Exe  to  its  mouth,  and  the 
waters  of  the  British  Channel  beyond ;  and  back, 
far  in  among  the  swelling  hills,  the  river  meander- 
ing past  hundreds  of  peaceful  villages  and  farm- 
houses ;  and  to  the  southwest  the  dimly-seen  blue 
mountain  walls  of  Dartmoor.  Descending  the  hill 
on  the  other  side  one  gets  into  the  genuine  inland 
Devonshire  country,  a  quiet  valley  lying  amid 
green  hills  cleanly  cultivated  to  the  top,  with  deep- 
eunk,  hedged  lanes  running  through  it,  and  a 
noble  Elizabethan  country-house  half  way  up  its 
side,  and  splendid  cattle  feeding  as  if  in  regular 
military  lines  on  its  meadows. 


SOUTH  DEVON    AND  TORQUAY.  373 

This  was  the  season  of  hedge-pruning ;  and  I 
met  men  hard  at  work  on  the  tall  luxuriant  hedges 
with  their  broad  pruning-bills. 

I  had  to  wait  a  day  or  two  longer  in  Exeter  on 
account  of  the  road's  being  impassable  between  Exe- 
ter and  Dawlish  ;  and  when  I  went  over  it,  it  was 
amazing  to  see  how  the  ocean  had  spurned  man's 
strongest  work.  Brunei  was  warned  not  to  build 
so  near  the  sea ;  and  one  old  man  in  especial  told 
him  that  the  work  might  last  ten  or  even  twenty 
years,  and  then  there  would  come  a  storm  which 
would  demolish  it ;  but  in  the  willfulness  of  his 
genius  he  despised  the  warning,  saying  that  "  an 
obstinate  old  man  was  worse  than  Parliament." 
Yet  he  was  a  great  genius  ;  and  this  very  South 
Devon  road,  triumphing  as  it  does  over  all  obsta- 
cles, spanning  arms  of  the  sea,  and  striding  from 
hill-top  to  hill-top,  is  proof  of  it. 

On  the  causeway  before  one  gets  to  Dawlish, 
under  the  red-clay  cliffs  just  at  its  side,  enormous 
masses  of  granite  had  been  twisted  around  and 
tumbled  down  as  if  they  were  cotton-bales  ;  and 
still  the  sea  was  roaring  and  churning  the  shells 
and  gravel  of  the  long  beach  in  menacing  unrest, 
although  the  sun  shone  brightly  upon  the  expanse 
of  the  broad  estuary  of  the  Exe  River,  and  upon 
the  pretty  towns  of  Topsham  and  Exmouth  on  its 
opposite  bank. 

Dawlish  is  a  snug  little  watering-place,  cosily 
set  in  a  narrow  bay  of  green  hills,  with  a  stream 
mnning  through  the  centre,  and  with  a  splendid 


874  OLD  ENGLAND. 

gravelly  sea-beach.  It  was  forme rly  an  insignifi- 
cant fishing  place,  though  long  ago  visited  bj 
health-seekers ;  and  the  readers  of  "  Mrs.  Schim- 
melpenninck's  Life  "  will  remember  how  much  she 
speaks  of  Dawlish.  In  one  place  she  says  :  "  In 
the  beginning  of  June  we  left  Bath  and  accompa- 
nied our  aunt  to  Dawlish,  where  she  had  just  built, 
on  a  model  of  her  own,  a  very  pretty  little  villa 
called  Seaorove  Lodge.  We  had  our  abode  in  a 
small  lodging  a  few  hundred  yards  off.  Dawlish 
was  not  then  what  it  is  now.  It  was  no  watering- 
place,  but  a  small  rural  village,  pastoral  indeed,  but 
without  pretension  either  to  beauty  or  picturesque 
effect.  It  consisted  of  a  straggling  line  of  small 
houses,  mostly  thatched,  and  many  whitewashed 
cottages,  interspersed  with  little  gardens,  extending 
irregularly  from  the  sides  of  a  shallow  brook,  that 
wound  through  a  plashy  green  full  of  rushes  and  the 
yellow-horned  poppy,  till,  crossing  through  sands, 
it  reached  the  sea.  This  little  stream  was  crossed 
by  a  crazy  wooden  foot-bridge,  where  the  children 
of  the  village  often  delighted  to  angle,  while  we 
were  occupied  in  the  marshy  sward  beneath  in 
gathering  the  water-cresses  growing  in  the  brook 
in  great  abundance." 

One  would  hardly  recall  this  "  water-color  "  pict- 
ure in  the  substantial  yellow-stuccoed  houses,  prim 
green,  and  noble  sea-promenade  of  the  present 
town. 

The  red  earth  cliffs  between  Dawlish  and  Teign 
tvtouth  are  of  the  most  bold  and  grotesque  forms 


SOUTH  DEVON  AND  TORQUAY.  375 

they  resemble  immense  Egyptian  sculptures  in 
their  massive  character  ;  for  the  sea,  rude  sculptor 
as  it  is,  has  hollowed,  and  carved,  and  shaped  them 
to  its  own  rough  fanc}^  The  railway  cuts  directly 
through  some  of  these  great  sandstone  masses.  The 
fragments  called  the  "  Parson  and  Clerk  "  stand 
out  very  oddly  in  the  sea,  —  the  red-faced  parson 
preaching  to  the  waves,  —  while  another  figure, 
below  the  breakwater  when  the  tide  is  out,  presents 
a  still  more  remarkable  appearance,  resembling  a 
gigantic  Capuchin  monk,  with  his  ample  cape  and 
gown  wildly  flying  in  the  wind. 

In  walking  about  Devonshire  one  gets  well 
painted  with  this  red  clay ;  where  it  has  been  re- 
cently plowed  and  the  water  stands  in  the  furrows, 
it  is  as  bright-colored  as  red  ochre. 

At  Teignmouth,  a  very  old  town,  there  is  the 
longest  bridge  in  the  kingdom  ;  it  has  thirty-four 
arches,  and  is  1671  feet  long.  This  is  another 
pleasant  health-resort.  "  The  average  tempera- 
ture is  almost  six  degrees  higher  than  that  of  Lon- 
don from  October  to  May,  and  five  lower  from 
June  to  September." 

Newton  Abbot,  where  one  takes  the  branch  train 
to  Torquay,  is  a  finely  situated  and  wooded  place. 

When  I  looked  out  of  the  window  the  next 
morning  upon  the  streets,  harbor,  and  bay  of  Tor- 
quay, it  was  truly  "  a  moving  sight  to  behold  ;  " 
*br  every  thing  was  in  a  state  of  restless  agitation ; 
the  rain  was  leaping  and  spouting,  the  small  craft 
m  the  inner  harbor  were  rocking  and  dancing,  and 


876  OLD  ENGLAND. 

the  big  waves  outside  were  tossing  their  white 
crests  in  tremendous  glee  —  another  of  those  fierce 
October  gales  was  upon  us,  though  of  shorter  du- 
ration. Of  course  it  rained  more  or  less  violently 
during  the  three  days  I  was  at  Torquay.  But  it 
is  a  continual  drizzle  at  all  seasons  in  Devonshire  ; 
for  the  warm  wind  from  the  tropics  coming  over 
the  Atlantic,  and  charged  heavily  with  moisture, 
deposites  itself  in  a  thick  mist  of  soft  rain  on  the 
Devonshire  coasts  and  fields ;  and  it  is  this  that 
lends  them  such  a  dark  rich  green.  Yet  there  i? 
more  rain  at  London  than  at  Torquay !  The  aver- 
age number  of  days  on  which  rain  falls  in  the 
course  of  the  year  in  Torquay  is  said  to  be  one 
hundred  and  thirty-two,  and  at  London  one  hun- 
dred and  seventy-eight.  Torquay  is  looked  upon 
therefore  as  a  dry  place,  being  situated  between 
two  rivers  and  under  the  Dartmoor  hijrhlands, 
which  serve  to  carry  off  the  moisture.  This,  with 
its  sheltered  situation  and  warm  equable  climate, 
makes  it  a  rival  of  Brighton  as  a  health-resort, 
though  for  another  class  of  invalids.  It  is  indeed 
Liiugly  and  charmingly  situated  in  one  of  those 
deeply  indented  bays  that  stud  the  shores  of  Dev- 
onshire —  a  bay  within  a  bay  —  nestling  itself  in  a 
gorge  under  the  steep  piny  cliffs  of  Park  Hill, 
Waldon  Hill,  and  the  Braddons,  themselves  cov- 
ered with  noble  stone  villas.  It  is  a  famous  uo- 
and-down  place,  and  by  climbing  a  little  one  can 
get  very  soon  into  a  bracing  hill  atmosphere.  Un- 
able to  beai    the  ennui  of  an  in-door  hotel  day,  J 


SOUTH  DEVON  AND  TORQUAT.  377 

talked  around  the  sea-road  and  the  shore  of  Tor- 
Day  for  some  distance,  though  it  was,  from  the 
force  of  the  wind,  rather  wrestling  than  walking. 
Sometimes  I  had  to  run  from  a  cataract  of  salt 
water.  The  sea-road  under  the  cliff  had  suffered 
in  the  same  manner  that  the  Exeter  and  Teisrn- 
mouth  road  had  done  ;  it  was  torn,  and  twisted, 
and  knocked  all  to  pieces ;  its  ponderous  stone- 
wall was  plowed  through  in  places  as  by  an  iron 
share  ;  and  the  waves  had  flung  themselves  over 
into  the  garden  and  roared  unceremoniously  into 
the  door  of  a  villa,  which  was  placed  too  ambi- 
tiously near  the  borders  of   their  dominion. 

But  the  splendid  semicircle  of  Torbay,  between 
dimly  defined  Berry  Head  on  the  south,  and 
Hope's  Nose  on  the  north,  presented  a  grand  spec- 
tacle under  these  circumstances  —  a  broad  sheet 
of  yellow  tumbling  yeast,  fringed  by  a  wall  of 
white  foam.  King  William's  fleet  would  have 
stood  a  poor  chance  then  to  have  landed  its  bold 
invaders.  God  times  the  moments  and  the  ele- 
ments in  these  turning  points  of  history ;  for  so 
thundered  the  waves  on  England's  cliffs  when  the 
Spanish  Armada  was  broken  to  pieces.  "  Flavh 
et  dissipali  sunt."" 

Before  I  left  Torquay,  however,  the  storm  had 
subsided  and  softened  away,  leaving  a  golden  hazy 
atmosphere  in  which  the  autumnal  sun  bathed  and 
diffused  itself,  and  at  moments  broke  through  the 
vapory  heavens  with  ail  the  more  brightness.  I 
made  excursions  to  Anstey's  Cove  and  Babbicombo 


578  OLD  ENGLAND. 

Bay.  At  the  head  of  the  former,  which  is  a 
tangled,  ivy-hung,  rock-cloven  chasm,  stands  an 
Italian  villa  of  the  Bishop  of  Exeter,  called 
"  Bishopstowe,"  having  a  wild  seclusion  and  a 
noble  sea  view.  Babbicombe  Bay  has  a  pretty 
sweep  of  silvery  beach  with  red-tinted  headlands, 
and  a  terraced  slope  to  the  edge  of  the  cliffs.  At 
Watcombe  Bay  the  scene  was  truly  Arcadian, 
^reen  landslips  under  the  cliffs  and  shepherds  with 
sheep  feeding. 

In  returning  I  noticed  an  ancient  "  Lich-house," 
or  place  for  the  temporary  deposit  of  the  dead,  in 
front  of  a  venerable  country  church ;  these  are 
rare  now  in  England. 

A  more  interesting  excursion  was  to  the  little 
town  of  Brixham,  just  at  the  southern  corner  of 
Torbay.  It  is  built  in  a  deep  basin  between  the 
hills,  and  is  a  good  specimen  of  an  old-fashioned 
English  fishing  town.  As  it  was  "  dirty  weather," 
the  old  salts  in  their  flapping  hats  and  Mackin- 
toshes were  hanging  about  the  stone  piers,  mending 
their  fishing  tackle,  or  tinkering  their  little  crafts. 
The  small  harbor  was  crowded  with  such  craft 
driven  in  by  the  storm.  The  smell  of  burning 
ritch  contended  with  the  more  ancient  "  fish-like  " 
cdor.  The  fishing  is  chiefly  done  by  trawling.  A 
new  trawling-gear  costs  some  <£80,  and  it  is  there- 
fore no  light  matter  to  lose  it,  as  is  frequently  done 
An  old  fisherman  said  to  me,  that  "  it  was  fine 
jport  fishing  in  pleasant  weather,  but  no  fine  wher 
winter    came    on."      Gudewives    had    baskets   o' 


SOUTH  DEVON  AND  TORQUAY.       379 

naicks  and  whitings  for  sale,  although  Saturdays 
lire  the  market  days.  Brixham  is  also  a  famous 
place  for  turbot,  soles,  mullet,  and  cod.  At  the 
end  of  the  pier  there  is  an  obelisk  of  stone,  set  in 
granite,  bearing  the  following  inscription  :  — 

"  On  this  stone, 

And    near  this  spot. 

WILLIAM, 

Prince  of   Orange, 

First  set  foot, 

On    his    first    landing    in 

England, 

5th   November, 

1688." 

Macaulay,  in  his  "  History  of  England,"  gives  the 
following  picture  of  this  event.  "  A  soft  breeze 
sprung  up  from  the  south,  the  mist  disappeared,  the 
sun  shone  forth,  and  under  the  mild  light  of  an 
autumnal  noon  the  fleet  turned  back,  passed 
around  the  lofty  cape  of  Berry  Head,  and  rode  safe 
into  the  harbor  of  Torbay.  The  disembarkation 
instantly  commenced.  Sixty  boats  conveyed  the 
troops  to  the  coast.  The  Prince  soon  followed. 
He  landed  where  the  quay  of  Brixham  now  stands ; 
a  fragment  of  the  rock  on  which  the  deliverer 
Btepped  from  his  boat  has  been  carefully  preserved, 
and  is  set  up  as  an  object  of  public  veneration  in 
the  centre  of  that  busy  wharf." 

Although  the  squall  was  furious,  I  scrambled 
i-.p  to  the  top  of  huge  Berry  Head,  beside  which 
*  Shakspeare's  Cliff"  dwindles,  and  had  a  talk 
with  the  old  coast-guard  there,  in  his  whitewashed 


580  OLD  ENGLAND. 

stone  hut,  over  a  little  smoking  furze  fire.  The 
view  from  the  cliff  was  grand,  though  the  approach 
to  the  edge  of  it,  from  the  violence  of  the  gusts, 
required  some  caution.  Over  the  bold  detached 
headland,  which  forms  the  northern  boundary  ol 
Torbay,  flew  plumes  of  spray,  and  the  green  waves 
of  the  British  Channel,  as  far  as  the  eye  could 
reach,  were  streaked  with  foam. 

The  veteran  coast-guard  might  hang  up  his  bat- 
tered telescope  on  its  rusty  nails  and  smoke  his 
pipe  in  peace.  His  only  duty  was  to  make  himself 
comfortable  that  afternoon. 

In  driving  back  to  Torquay  we  passed  the  seat 
of  a  nobleman,  with  whose  family  history  the  coach- 
man seemed  minutely  acquainted,  and  he  helped  to 
while  away  a  rainy  ride  over  a  dull  bleak  region 
by  detailing  it  to  me.  Among  other  things,  he 
said  that  the  son  of  this  nobleman,  who  was  as 
great  a  scapegrace,  from  his  account,  as  the  famous 
"  Heir  of  Linne,"  had  lately  lost  ,£30,000  in  racing 
spiders  over  a  hot  plate  !  This  story  I  give  en- 
tirely on  the  coachman's  authority. 

The  season  had  just  about  commenced  at  Tor- 
quay, though  the  severe  weather  had  prevented  as 
yet  much  thronging  of  visitors.  It  is  an  elegant 
and  fashionable  town,  and  has  some  rich  modern 
churches,  costly  residences,  and  one  of  the  best 
hotels  to  be  found  in  the  kingdom.  The  Devon- 
•hire  country  people  that  one  sees  on  the  streeti 
*ere,  are  generally  noble  specimens  of  men,  witt 
dooming  red  faces,  and  eyes  as  black  as  sloes 


SOUTH  DEVON  AND  TORQUAY.       881 

»nd  with  their  velvet  jackets,  yellow  corduroy 
breeches,  huge  brogans,  miniature  felt  hats  stuck 
on  one  side  of  the  head,  and  flowers  pinned  into 
their  coat-collars,  they  are  indeed  quite  present* 
able  giants. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

CORNWALL   AND    PENZANCE. 

Striking  again  upon  the  South  Devon  road,  I 
went  on  to  Totness.  At  Totness  we  crossed  the 
beautiful  river  Dart,  navigable  ten  miles  from  Dart- 
mouth. One  sees  here  in  England  the  meaning 
of  the  names  Dartmouth,  Exmouth,  Plymouth,  &c, 
which  transferred  to  our  American  inland,  or  sim- 
ply shore  towns,  have  lost  all  their  original  signifi- 
cance. From  Totness  to  Plymouth  the  distance  is 
twenty- four  and  a  half  miles,  and  the  road  passes 
through  much  interesting  Devonshire  scenery, 
especially  about  Ivy  Bridge,  a  favorite  neighboi- 
hood  for  artists.  The  Dartmoor  highlands  lie 
somewhat  to  the  north,  which  though  not  of  great 
elevation  are  exceedingly  romantic,  forming  a  wild, 
solitary,  and  tempestuous  region. 

Plymouth,  a  name  dear  to  the  American,  has 
great  beauties  and  charms  of  its  own.  I  can  never 
forget  the  surprise  I  experienced  at  the  first  sight 
of  the  harbor  of  Plymouth  from  the  Hoe  prom- 
enade ;  to  say  that  it  is  an  English  Bay  of  Naples, 
would  have  little  meaning,  for  there  is  no  resem- 
blance between  the  two ;  but  Plymouth  Bay  ii 
sertainly  the  most  noble,  varied,  and  beautiful,  of 


CORNWALL  ANO  PENZANCE.  388 

all  the  English  harbors,  and  there  are  few  in  the 
world  to  compare  with  it.  And  out  of  it  about  this 
time  of  the  year,  perhaps  upon  such  a  clear,  fresh, 
and  golden  autumn  morning,  with  the  trees  of 
Edgcumbe  Park  just  turning  crimson,  and  the 
waves  in  the  bay  curling  merrily  to  the  breeze, 
the  little  Mayflower  put  out  to  sea,  bearing  another 
England  within  her ! 

New  Plymouth,  so  the  tradition  is,  was  named 
from  a  fancied  resemblance  to  the  old  Plymouth. 
The  resemblance  must  be  very  slight.  A  Pilgrim 
College  is  now  established  at  or  near  the  traditional 
spot  where  the  embarkation  of  the  Pilgrims  for 
America  took  place.  This  event  is  thus  related  in 
the  "  Journal  of  the  Pilgrims :  "  "  Wednesday,  the 
Bixt  of  September,  the  Wind  comming  East  North 
East  a  fine  small  gale,  we  loosed  from  Plimoth, 
hauing  beene  kindly  intertained  and  curteously 
vsed  by  diuers  friends  there  dweling,  and  aftei 
many  difficulties  in  boysterous  stormes,  at  length  by 
God's  prouidence  vpon  the  ninth  of  Nouember  fol- 
lowing, by  breake  of  the  day  we  espied  land." 

And  it  seems  to  be  England's  destiny  still  to  have 
her  population  flow  away  ever  from  her  shores  to- 
ward America.  With  all  the  increasing;  wealth  of 
England,  her  system  of  taxation  falling  so  unequally 
on  the  lower  classes,*  and  the  tendency  of  her 
legislation  to  concentrate  the  lanced  interests  in  the 
hands  of  a  few,  so  that  the  small  landholders  are 
every  year  diminishing  in  number  and  in  ability  tc 

•  Walker's  Science  of  Wealth,  p.  370. 


384  OLD   ENGLAND. 

support  themselves,  and  with  her  untold  millions  of 
hopeless  paupers,  great  numbers  must  emigrate  oi 
starve  ;  so  that  willingly  or  unwillingly  England 
still  continues  to  nourish  America,  and  America  is 
twice-born  of  the  mother-country. 

The  Tamar  River  widens  at  its  mouth  and  forma 
Plymouth  Sound,  and  the  splendid  inner  basin  of 
the  Hamoaze,  some  four  miles  long,  and  capable  of 
mooring  a  hundred  sail  of  the  line.  The  estuary 
of  the  Plym,  called  the  Cat-water,  is  a  still  larger 
anchorage  for  merchant  vessels  to  the  east  of  the 
city.  These  are  both  crowded  with  vast  frigates, 
and  with  smaller  shipping,  the  view  up  the  Hamoaze 
ending  with  the  long  and  lofty  lines  of  Albert  Bridge 
at  Saltash. 

The  massive  citadel  of  Plymouth,  and  the  pyra- 
midal rock  of  Drake's  Island,  strongly  fortified, 
give  a  grave  and  solid  aspect  to  the  scene  ;  while 
the  lovely  banks  of  the  Tamar,  and  the  thickly 
wooded  promontory  of  Mount  Edgcumbe,  take  it 
out  of  the  commonplace  of  harbor  views,  and  lend 
it  a  strange  picturesqueness. 

Mount  Edgcumbe,  with  its  feathery  slopes  and 
bold  banks  girdled  by  the  deep  blue  sea,  peculiarly 
attracted  — so  says  his  biographer — the  painter  Tur- 
ner ;  as  did  also  this  whole  region  about  Plymouth 
Bay,  and  the  sweet  scenery  of  the  Tamar  River. 
A.nd  indeed  there  is  no  one  who  has  so  photographed 
by  the  sun-flash  of  genius  the  varied  scenery  of  al. 
England,  as  this  eccentric  but  enthusiastic  lover  of 
bis  native  land  has  done.     Born  in  one  of  the  mos? 


CORNWALL  AND  PENZANCE.  885 

Dbscure  of  the  dingy  courts  of  London,  the  sen  of 
a  barber,  and  with  the  prospect  of  frizzling  hair 
himself  all  his  life,  his  genius  was  first  fairly  awaked 
by  the  daily  sight  of  the  river  Thames,  and  by  the 
trees  and  meadows  of  Twickenham  and  Bushy 
Park,  in  the  neighborhood  of  which  he  was  sent  to 
school.  He  afterward  saw  the  ocean  at  Margate 
in  Kent,  where  he  also  went  to  school ;  and  there 
he  fell  in  love  with  the  sister  of  a  school-mate, 
which  led  to  the  great  sorrow  of  his  life,  but  which, 
perhaps,  wedded  him  the  more  closely  to  Art.  His 
blue  eyes,  red  face,  and  stout,  short,  shabbily  dressed 
form,  might  have  been  seen  a  quarter  of  a  century 
ago  or  more  in  every  part  of  Devonshire,  on  its 
southern  and  northern  coasts  —  he  used  to  say  he 
was  a  Devonshire  man  —  also  in  Cornwall  where 
he  sketched  St.  Michael's  Mount,  in  Wiltshire  with 
Beckford,  in  Kent,  in  Derbyshire,  and  above  all  in 
Yorkshire,  his  favorite  county.  He  was  preemi- 
nently an  English  painter,  as  Milton  was  an  English 
poet.  Ruskin  says  that  he  so  caught  the  trick  of 
the  Yorkshire  hills,  rounding  as  they  do  at  the  sum- 
mit with  a  break  or  precipice  at  the  foot  instead  of 
one  sheer  to  the  top,  that  he  really  made  the  Alps 
themselves  bend  in  the  same  wav  to  do  homage  to 
his  unconquerable  English  genius.*  Turner,  as  far 
as  I  have  gained  any  conception  of  his  character, 
seems  to  me  to  be  a  type  of  the  best  and  worst,  the 
greatest  and  meanest  traits  of  the  English  mind,  — 
vnginal,  incomprehensible,  positive,  reticent,  acqui* 

*   Thornburij's  Life  <f  Turner,  Vo.   I.,  p.  151. 
25 


886  OLD  ENGLAND. 

Bitive,  tender,  rough,  despising  public  opinion  bui 
ea<?er  for  a  solid  and  lasting  fame.  He  did  not  see 
why  Italy,  or  an  Italian  artist,  should  monopolize  all 
God's  beauty  in  Nature,  or  that  dear  misty  England 
should  be  without  her  Claude  —  and  with  tenfold 
*iiore  of  power,  as  when  the  storm  awakes  in  its 
might  around  the  coasts  of  this  green  and  lovely 
<sle.  But  I  have  gotten  far  away  from  Plymouth 
Bay  and  Mount  Edgcumbe.  This  last  striking 
und  beautiful  spot,  was  the  place  that  the  com- 
mander of  the  Spanish  Armada  set  his  greedy  eyes 
upon  as  the  seat  of  his  power  and  pleasure  after  hia 
speedy  conquest  of  England,  and  from  the  harbor 
near  by  darted  out  those  nimble  little  English  frig- 
ates under  Howard,  Hawkins,  and  Drake,  to  spoil 
his  dreams.  Drake,  it  is  related,  would  play  out 
and  win  his  game  of  bowls,  before  he  stirred  a 
step  to  go  aboard  his  ship,  though  all  Spain  and 
Philip  himself  were  coming.  As  to  these  same  little 
English  frigates  —  we  are  sometimes  apt  to  regard 
England  as  if  she  had  always  been  the  great  naval 
power  that  she  now  is  ;  but  before  the  reign  of  Eliza- 
beth she  had  no  navy  worth  speaking  of.  Froude 
says  that  at  the  beginning  of  that  reign  "  the  whole 
naval  force  in  commission  amounted  to  seven  coast- 
guard vessels,  the  largest  of  which  was  but  one 
hundred  and  twenty  tons  ;  and  eight  small  mer- 
chant brigs  and  schooners,  altered  for  fighting." 
The  love  of  gold  and  the  plunder  of  rich  Spanish 
galeons,  and  the  wild  hopes  which  the  opening  of 
*  New  World  aroused  —  America,  in  fact    v\  ith  her 


CORNWALL   AND   PENZANCE.  387 

mysterious  magnetic  power  drawing  west  to  new 
fields  of  wealth  and  conquest  —  here  was  the  true 
originating  cause  of  the  maritime  greatness  of  Old 
England. 

At  the  mouth  of  the  broad  harbor  stretches  that 
wonder  of  patient  science,  the  Plymouth  Break- 
water, a  milu  long,  terminated  by  a  light-house.  It 
receives  the  full  force  of  the  stormy  Southern  At- 
lantic as  it  rolls  up  into  the  English  Channel.  And 
beyond  all,  fourteen  miles  out  at  sea,  I  could  discern, 
even  with  the  naked  eye,  the  tall  tapering  white 
form  of  "  Eddystone  Light-house,"  and  with  a  glass 
could  see  the  spray  dashing  in  graceful  jets  at  its 
base,  under  the  northerly  wind.  Smeaton,  Rennie, 
Brunei,  have  crowned  Plymouth  with  works  of  im- 
perishable honor,  —  works  of  peace,  humanity,  and 
enduring  utility. 

I  stayed  two  days  in  Plymouth,  boating  in  the 
harbor,  boarding;  some  of  the  immense  men-of-war 
that  lie  there  so  silent  and  immovable,  and  tramp- 
ing; over  Edgcumbe  Park,  from  which  one  has  a 
view  of  Carson  Bay,  the  favorite  anchoring  ground 
of  Nelson  and  Vincent ;  and  here  too  I  had  an 
opportunity  of  studying  some  of  the  finest  trees  in 
England,  —  oaks,  laurels,  firs,  ilexes,  and  cedars  of 
Lebanon.  I  also  made  an  excursion  up  the  Tamar 
to  the  Royal  Albert  Bridge,  the  only  work  of  Bru- 
nei that  combines  stupen.lousness  with  economy. 
Generally  speaking,  his  designs  have  been  great, 
and  greatly  ruinous  to  all  concerned  in  them. 
Here  he  seems  to  have  studied  cheapness  as  well  as 


888  OLD  ENGLAND. 

vastness.  It  is  as  plain  a  structure  as  could  well  be 
conceived,  but  its  simplicity  is  impressive  and  al- 
most sublime.  Its  span  of  four  hundred  and  eighty 
feet  and  its  huge  unornamented  white  iron  cylin- 
ders make  a  lofty  gradual  arch  over  the  abyss,  and 
in  spite  of  the  immense  piers,  and  other  gigantic 
supports,  appear  to  hold  the  whole  structure  sus- 
pended entirely  from  them.  So  perfect  were  the 
preparations,  that  the  bridge  was  raised  at  last 
without  the  sound  of  a  hammer.  A  man-of-war 
may  pass  under  it  with  full  sail  set. 

Old  Saltash  tumbling  up  the  steep  bank  under 
the  colossal  shadows  of  the  bridge,  with  its  irregular 
clustering  houses,  and  boats  lying  about  in  confu- 
sion on  the  gravelly  beach,  is  a  piquant  bit  of  pict- 
ure in  itself.  Above  Saltash  the  Tamar  assumes 
a  strictly  rural,  quiet,  inland  beauty. 

The  Royal  Hotel  at  Plymouth  was  intended  to 
be  a  comprehensive  institution,  or  to  embrace  hotel, 
coffee-house,  theatre,  and  church,  all  under  one  roof. 
It  is  a  rambling  old  house  enough.  The  sombre 
coffee-room  and  its  low  ceiling,  middle  arch,  red  car- 
pet, oak-pattern  paper,  game-piece  medallions,  and 
polished  ponderous  mahogany  furniture,  with  the  re- 
spectable old  waiters  in  white  cravats  and  aprons,  and 
naval  officers  eating  coppery  oysters,  and  talking 
thick  over  their  port  wine,  are  fresh  in  my  memory. 
Here  I  partook,  not  for  the  first  time,  however,  of  the 
famous  Devonshire  "  clouted  cream ," — a  rich  and 
palatable  dessert,  something  like  improved  "  bonny* 
blabber."      The  method   of  making  it  is  fully  de» 


CORNWALL  AND  PENZANCE.  889 

icribed  in  a  book  on  "  English  cattle "  which  I 
picked  up ;  but  the  real  Devonshire  milk  is  to  be 
first  obtained.  "  The  milk  is  suffered  to  stand  in  a 
vessel  for  twenty-four  hours  ;  it  is  then  placed  over 
a  stove  or  slow  fire,  and  very  gradually  heated  to 
an  almost  simmering  state,  below  the  boiling  point. 
When  this  is  accomplished,  (the  first  bubble  having 
appeared,)  the  milk  is  removed  from  the  fire,  and 
allowed  to  stand  for  twenty-four  hours  more.  And 
at  the  end  of  the  time  the  cream  will  have  arisen 
to  the  surface  in  a  thick  or  clouted  state,  and  is  re- 
moved ;  in  this  state  it  is  eaten  as  a  luxury,  but  it  is 
often  converted  into  butter,  which  is  done  by  stir- 
ring it  briskly  by  the  hand  or  stick."  By  this  it  is 
seen  that  it  is  almost  as  rich  as  butter.  This 
clouted  cream  is  said  to  have  first  come  from  Corn- 
wall, where  it  is  still  a  common  luxury ;  and, 
strangely  enough  it  is  an  Oriental  or  Syrian  dish  to 
this  day  ;  so  that  some,  (by  rather  a  broad  leap,) 
have  argued  from  this  fact  the  authenticity  of  the 
Phoenician  visitation  to  Cornwall. 

There  are  no  specially  handsome  streets  in  Plym- 
outh, though  it  is  much  more  of  a  city  than  Ports- 
mouth, and  with  Devonport  and  its  immense  dock- 
yard of  seventy-one  acres,  its  vast  military  works, 
and  its  fine  houses  and  churches,  it  is  a  stately  and 
imposing  place.  In  the  public  library  I  saw  three 
pictures  by  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds. 

We  have  now  to  make  a  rapid  tour  through  the 
ast  county  in  England,  Cornwall      There  is  truth 


890  OLD  ENGLAND. 

in  these  remarks  of  an  English  writer  :  "  Cornwall 
has  been,  perhaps,  less  known  and  visited  by 
tourists  than  any  other  of  our  counties ;  and  I 
might  say  less  than  the  capitals  of  the  Continent 
of  Europe.  You  will  find  in  any  miscellaneous 
company,  many  more  Englishmen  who  have  visited 
Paris  than  Truro  ;  many  more  who  have  sailed  up 
and  down  the  Rhine  than  up  and  down  the  rivers 
Tamar  and  Fowey ;  many  more  who  know  the 
outside  and  inside  of  St.  Peter's  at  Rome,  than  the 
outside  or  inside,  especially  the  latter,  of  a  Cornish 
copper  mine."  How  many  Englishmen,  in  Eng- 
land and  on  the  Continent,  have  told  me  that  they 
had  never  been  to  Cornwall,  and,  what  is  more, 
never  wished  to  go.  They  have  lost  the  sight  of  a 
wild  and  singular  region,  totally  unlike  the  rest  of 
England,  and  of  an  interesting  people. 

Whirling  over  the  "  Royal  Albert  Bridge  "  to 
Saltash,  one  is  in  Cornwall.  The  scenery  con- 
tinues to  be  beautiful,  and  like  that  in  Devonshire, 
until  the  mining  region  is  reached.  The  railway 
crosses  a  number  of  narrow  valleys  or  gorges 
6loping  to  the  sea,  and  richly  wooded  and  green. 
The  vales  of  Liskeard  and  Lostwithiel  are  charm- 
ing, containing  a  dark  ferny  luxuriant  vegetation, 
with  beautiful  river  scenery,  and  noble  artificial 
works,  broad  canals,  and  stupendous  railway  via- 
ducts spanning  from  hill  to  hill  ;  for  Brunei  put 
out  all  his  strength  on  this  South  Devon  and  Corn- 
wall  road.  At  Lostwithiel,  on  the  lovely  Fowey 
River,  one  first  begins  to  see  mining  carriages,  an<2 


CORNWALL  AND  PENZANCE.  891 

traces  of  that  immense  system  of  underground 
operations,  that  convert  this  end  of  England  into  a 
solemn,  candle-lit,  subterranean  hive  or  prison. 
Before  coming  to  Truro,  we  passed  the  famous 
Carelaze  tin-mine,  with  its  white  clay  cliffs.  It  is 
an  open  excavation  of  a  mile  in  circuit,  and  from 
twenty  to  thirty  fathoms  deep.  It  presents  the 
unique  spectacle  of  an  out-of-door  mine.  It  is 
worked  in  an  earth  called  "  soft  growan  "  (or  de- 
composed granite),  and  the  metal  is  obtained  sim- 
ply by  washing.  The  mine  has  been  worked  four 
hundred  years,  and  an  incredible  amount  of  metul 
has  been  taken  from  it.  Now  begins  to  appear  the 
true  Cornwall  scenery,  —  low  hills  without  wood, 
barren  moors  covered  with  a  short  furze,  and  more 
commonly  still,  simple  mounds  of  sand  and  gravel, 
and  holes  and  pits  everywhere.  Now  and  ther< 
there  is  a  small  stone  hut  with  a  walled-in  min 
iature  kitchen-garden.  A  wooden  shed,  somo 
spindling  poles  and  tottering  scaffolding  with  clus 
ters  of  huts  and  larger  piles  of  sand  and  detritus^ 
are  the  unobtrusive  and  almost  unnoticeable  evi- 
dences of  what  is  perhaps  a  large  and  rich  mine, 
Truro,  the  capital  of  Cornwall,  is  finely  situated 
on  the  confluence  of  two  streams,  but  beauty  is 
sacrificed  to  business,  and  sand-heaps,  mounds 
of  "  deads,"  and  all  the  withering  concomitants  of 
a  mining  district,  make  the  environs  of  this  ancient 
'own  any  thing  but  attractive.  Redruth, '  some- 
what further  on,  is  the  very  centre  of  the  Cornwall 
copper  mines,  and  of  savage  scenery.     The  region 


392  OLD  ENGLAND. 

is  indescribably  bleak  and  barren.  The  black 
heights  of  "  Cam  Brea,"  strewed  with  tempest- 
worn  blocks  or  "  tors  "  of  granite,  frown  over  the 
scene.  All  around  the  landscape  is  like  that  of  the 
"  Cities  of  the  Plain,"  after  the  tempest  of  fire  and 
brimstone  had  rained  on  them.  There  is  nothing 
but  a  continued  series  of  poisonous-looking  heaps 
of  the  exuviae  of  mines,  and  a  dismal  and  herbless 
expanse  for  the  eye  to  rest  upon.  Out  of  the  town 
few  people  or  signs  of  life  are  seen.  The  life  is 
under  ground.  This  is  the  heart  of  what  is  called 
"  The  Gwennap  Mining  District."  It  is  chiefly 
cupriferous,  and  is  the  richest  in  Cornwall.  The 
little  that  I  have  room  to  say  about  the  Cornwall 
mines,  might  as  well  be  said  here.  For  a  fuller 
treatment  of  this  theme  I  refer  the  reader  to  a 
small  book  called  "  Cornwall :  its  Mines  and 
Miners." 

Copper  is  found  in  granite  and  clay-slate,  or 
more  definitely  in  what  is  technically  called  killas, 
or  greenish  clay-slate,  and  especially  in  the  line  of 
the  junction  of  this  with  granite.  The  vein  varies 
in  size  from  the  thickness  of  a  sheet  of  paper  to 
that  of  several  yards.  Sometimes  the  miner  strikes 
upon  a  rich  "bunch  "  of  metal  with  smaller  veins 
or  strings  hanging  to  it,  like  the  root  of  a  vegeta- 
ble. This  hope  of  continually  coming  upon  a  prize 
fires  him  in  his  hard  and  solitary  toil.  According 
*o  the  richness  of  his  gains  so  is  his  pay.  In  the 
common  method  of  working  mines,  the  miner  re 
:eives  a  certain  percentage  on  the  actual  value  ot 


CORNWALL  AND  PENZANCE.  393 

what  he  digs.  It  is  thus  for  the  interest  of  the 
workmen,  or  "  tributers,"  to  make  as  much  for 
their  employers  as  possible  ■  and  there  are  no 
strikes  among  the  Cornish  miners. 

The  vast  expense  and  skill  requisite  in  mining 
can  hardly  be  estimated  by  the  uninitiated.  It 
is  said  that  the  annual  cost  of  mining  operations 
in  Cornwall  is  about  equal  to  the  annual  gains, 
though  these  are  immense.  Therefore  some  must 
lose  heavily,  while  a  few  only  make  money.  Min- 
ing is  a  gigantic  lottery.  It  takes  the  place  in 
England  of  our  Western  land  speculations.  To 
hold  a  share  in  a  mine  is  perilous  business,  because 
it  is  a  leasehold  which  may  expire  any  year,  and 
because  one's  liability  is  unlimited.  Yet  almost  all 
Cornish  men  and  women,  who  have  any  property, 
hold  shares  in  mines.  A  common-looking,  chatty 
woman  pointed  out  to  me  a  mine,  called,  if  I  re- 
member rightly,  "  Cook's  Kitchen,"  and  said  she 
)wned  a  share  there.  She  got  off  the  car,  and 
ooked  about  her  with  the  air  of  a  proprietor. 

The  extent  and  elaborateness  of  some  of  the 
older  Cornwall  mines  will  account  for  their  ex- 
pensiveness.  The  "  Consolidated  Mines,"  which 
are  perhaps  the  largest,  are  calculated  to  extend 
5500  fathoms,  or  sixty-three  miles  under  ground. 
Some  twelve  miles  of  perpendicular  depth  have 
been  sunk  in  shafts.  The  old  "  Dalcoath  Mine  ' 
is  1920  feet  deep.  These  vast  depths  and  ramifi- 
cations have  to  be  drained  and  ventilated.  Foi 
training,    steam-engines    of    extraordinary    powei 


894  OLD  ENGLAND. 

mi. st  be  employed.  They  are  of  peculiar  con* 
struction,  economizing  power  to  a  wonderful  de- 
cree, and  are  made  in  Cornwall.  One  of  them  at 
"  Austen's  Fowey  Consols  Mine  "  is  thus  de- 
scribed :  "  It  has  an  eighty-inch  cylinder  10.97 
load  per  square  inch  on  the  piston,  and  a  length 
of  stroke  in  the  cylinder  of  10.31,  and  in  the 
pump  of  9.25,  lifting  87,065,000  pounds  a  foot 
high,  by  the  consumption  of  only  one  bushel  of 
coals.  It  consumes  eighty-four  pounds  of  coal  in 
an  hour."  It  is  estimated  that  at  "  Huel  Abraham 
Mine  43,500  hogsheads  of  water  have  been  pumped 
up  in  twenty-four  hours  from  a  depth  of  1441 
feet."  Ventilation  is  also  effected,  or  at  least 
aided,  by  the  employment  of  steam,  discharging 
foul  air  and  creating  circulation.  The  air  of  some 
mines  is  oppressively  hot.  Men  have  been  known 
to  lose  five  or  six  pounds  of  weight  at  a  single 
spell  of  labor,  from  profuse  perspiration  at  the  bot- 
tom of  a  deep  mine,  where  the  temperature  is  often 
nearer  90°  than  80°. 

The  hardest  work  of  the  poor  miner  is  descend- 
ing and  ascending  such  enormous  depths  by  ladders. 
After  a  wearing,  toiling  day  in  dungeon  air,  then 
to  climb  up  endless  ladders,  carrying  his  tools,  full 
an  hour's  journey,  "to  grass,"  —  or  what  would 
be  like  climbing  a  mountain  without  having  the 
pure  mountain  air  to  breathe,  —  is  almost  too  much 
for  human  strength.  Heart  disease  and  consump- 
tion are  the  inevitable  results  of  such  unnatura, 
toil.      The    "  man-machine,"    now    introduced    tc 


CORNWALL   AND   PENZANCE.  396 

Borne  extent  in  the  Cornwall  mines,  has  been  a 
great  blessing  to  miners.  It  is  a  long  rod  con- 
nected with  a  working  beam,  with  a  stroke  of 
twelve  feet.  Upon  this  rod  are  attached  shelves, 
each  large  enough  for  two  men  to  stand  upon.  Up 
goes  the  rod,  lifting  the  men  with  it.  They  then 
step  from  this  shelf  upon  a  shelf  fixed  on  the  side 
of  the  shaft.  There  they  wait  until  the  rod  again 
ascends,  when  they  step  upon  its  rising  shelf  and 
are  carried  up  twelve  feet.  So  they  gradually 
come  "  to  grass."  An  American  friend,  who  ex- 
plored several  Cornwall  mines,  told  me,  that  not- 
withstanding the  apparent  ease  of  this  process,  it 
required  nevertheless  a  quick  eye  and  steady 
nerves.  His  coat-skirt  once  became  entangled 
upon  a  descending  shelf,  and  had  it  not  been  for 
the  quickness  of  his  guide  he  would  have  gone 
down  with  it. 

The  life  of  the  miner  is  not  to  be  envieu.  He 
works  in  awful  silence  by  dim  candle-light  at  the 
bottom  of  a  well,  and  often  in  the  foul  air  of  a 
gewer.  His  life  is  in  continual  peril.  And  when 
he  comes  to  the  upper  air,  it  is  to  expose  himself  to 
keen  blasts  that  cut  through  his  frame.  He  rarely 
lasts  more  than  sixty  years.  Yet  the  Cornish 
miner  is  a  contented  and,  generally  speaking,  re- 
ligious man.  The  labors  of  Whitefield  and  Wes- 
ley sowed  seeds  among  the  rocks  here  that  still 
Dear  rich  fruit.  Near  Redruth  there  is  a  larrre 
hollow,  or  pit,  where  John  Wesley  preached  to 
«rast  assemblies  of  miners  •,   it   is   now   sometimes 


B96  OLD  ENGLAND. 

used  for    great  religious   gatherings   and   out-doof 
preaching. 

Tin  is  usually  associated  in  the  same  localities 
with  copper,  and  is  found  likewise  in  the  granite 
and  metamorphic  rock.  It  is  also  procured  in 
small  quantities  from  alluvial  deposites,  like  gold. 
This  "  stream-tin  "  was  what  the  ancient  Britons 
of  Cornwall  probably  sold  to  the  Phoenicians, 
though  they  may  have  mined  to  some  little  extent. 
Since  visiting  Cornwall,  I  have  thought  that  the 
parable  of  the  man  finding  "  treasure  hid  in  a 
field,"  was  not  that  he  found  money  or  jewels,  but 
a  vein  of  silver  or  copper,  for  which  he  sells  all  to 
buy ;  and  to  seek  truth  as  hid  treasures,  was  it  not, 
in  fact,  to  mine  for  it  with  resolution,  skill,  and 
success  ?  The  28th  chapter  of  Job,  especially  the 
3d  and  4th  verses,  literally  translated,  are  a  wonder- 
fully correct  description  of  mining  operations  even 
at  this  clay.  This  chapter  certainly  goes  to  prove 
the  exceedingly  great  antiquity  of  mining. 

Tin  is  found  in  other  parts  of  the  world,  but  the 
errand  source  of  tin  is  Cornwall.  Our  New  Eng 
land  bright  tin  pans,  and  flashing  Connecticut  tin- 
peddler's  ware,  were  all  once  hundreds  of  fathoms 
deep  and  dark  under  the  Cornish  hills.  Tin  in  the 
ore  is  any  thing  but  bright  and  promising.  It  has 
to  undergo  a  vast  deal  of  crushing,  stamping,  roll- 
ing, puddling,  dressing,  and  smelting,  before  it 
comes  out  a  shining  metal.  Tin  ore  must  be,  by 
.aw,  smelted  in  Cornwall,  where  there  is  no  coal. 
The  greatest  smelting  works  are  in  the  neighbor* 


CORNWALL  AND  PENZANCE.  397 

hood  of  Truro.  A  beefsteak  cooked  on  a  red-hot 
bar  of  tin,  is  the  common  treat  of  a  visitor  after 
inspecting  a  mine. 

The  same  vessels  that  bring  coal  from  the  North, 
bear  back  copper  to  the  North.  Copper  ore  ia 
smelted  mostly  out  of  Cornwall,  at  Swansea  and 
Neath,  in  South  Wales.  But  I  am  net  writing 
a  book  on  mining,  and  my  reader  can  find  a 
thoroughly  scientific  treatment  of  the  subject  in  the 
little  volume  I  have  recommended.  Few  subjects 
are  more  curiously  interesting  from  the  force  of 
mind,  the  will  and  courage,  the  ingenuity  of  inven- 
tion, the  singular  geologic  phenomena,  and  the  fresh 
and  novel  facts  developed  by  the  every-day  work- 
ing of  the  whole  stupendous  system. 

From  Redruth,  the  railway  passes  by  and  over 
a  portion  of  sandy-shored  St.  Ives'  Bay,  at  Hayle. 
St.  Ives  is  a  great  point  for  the  "  pilchard  fishery." 
This  fishery  is  almost  altogether  confined  to  the 
shores  of  Cornwall.  Once  a  year  these  little  fish 
swarm  up  from  the  Southern  seas  to  the  English 
coasts.  When  they  approach  land  in  vast  shoals, 
they  are  eagerly  watched  and  taken  in  great  seines. 
The  net  is  one  hundred  and  ninetv  fathoms  long, 
•md  costs  some  £170.  The  author  of  "  Cornwall 
Mines  and  Miners"  says  that  at  the  town  of  St. 
Ives,  no  less  than  1000  hogsheads  of  pilchards  were 
once  secured  in  three  casts  of  the  seine.  And  in 
>he  little  town  of  Trereen,  GOO  hogsheads  were 
taken  in  a  week.  As  2400  fish  make  a  hogshead, 
to   less    than    1,400,000    pilchards    were    caught 


398  OLD  ENGLAND. 

These  are  salted  and  sent  to  the  southern  coun- 
tries of  Europe,  to  supply  good  Catholics  with  fisb 
in  their  Lenten  season  !  The  pilchard  is  somewhat 
smaller  than  a  herring,  and  does  not  compare  with 
it  for  eatinor 

Pilchard  fishing  is  said  to  be  a  very  picturesque 
and  stirring  sight,  especially  if  it  take  place  at  night 
by  torchlight.  The  nets  then  look  like  masses  of 
molten  silver. 

St.  Ives  in  Huntingdonshire,  and  not  St.  Ives  in 
Cornwall,  is  probably  the  famous  one  of  the  nursery 
rhyme.  It  is  strange  to  think  how  slender  the  neck 
of  England  is  here ;  one  can  almost  see  across  it. 
We  are  fast  coming  to  the  end  of  all  things. 

The  people  one  meets  here  in  the  little  one-track 
junction  railway,  are  of  a  very  plain,  frank,  sociable 
cast.  London  superciliousness  and  reserve  have 
altogether  vanished,  and  you  talk  freely  with  your 
neighbor.  Everybody  is  acquainted  with  every- 
body, and  a  stranger  is  looked  upon  as  one  to 
whom  all  are  bound  to  be  polite  and  entertaining. 
I  gathered  a  great  number  of  facts  about  mining 
and  pilchards,  which,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  I  do  not  re- 
ain.  The  general  impression  1  received  was,  that 
the  zeal  for  mining  is  on  the  decline  ;  that  it  is 
too  unhealthy,  dangerous,  and  above  all  pecunia- 
rily uncertain  business.  It  is  heart-breaking  in  its 
crosses  and  disappointments.  One  fact  I  recall. 
An  enterprising  "  adventurer  "  —  so  all  are  termed 
who  speculate  in  mines  —  had  spent  .£94,000  upon 
A  mine  and  died  of  disappointment ;   while  his  sue 


CORNWALL  AND  PENZANCE.  399 

ces3or  a  few  weeks  after  began  to  realize  —  I  hold 
to  this  excellent  Americanism  —  an  immense  for- 
tune from  the  same  mine. 

A  young  Episcopal  clergyman  sat  opposite  to  me, 
with  the  most  approved  pre-raphaelite  cut  to  his  coat 
and  visage,  with  whom  I  fell  into  conversation  and 
found  him  an  intelligent  and  genial  man.  At 
parting  he  gave  me  a  line  of  introduction  to  his 
father-in-law,  a  distinguished  clergyman  living  at 
Pendeen,  with  whom  he  made  me  promise  that  I 
would  pass  the  next  Sabbath. 

The  first  sight  of  "  St.  Michael's  Mount"  gilded 
with  the  fires  of  a  lurid  sunset,  and  of  the  foam- 
fringed  expanse  of  "  Mount's  Bay,"  had  to  me  a 
touch  of  the  romantic  ;  for  I  had  ever  associated 
the  "  Mount "  with  a  certain  dreamy  undefined 
antiquity,  and  with  Milton's  poetry. 

It  was  storm  and  shine  during  my  stay  at  Pen- 
nance,  though  the  former  predominated.  There  is 
a  saying  that  there  is  a  shower  every  day  in  Corn- 
wall, and  two  on  Sunday.  But  the  temperature  in 
this  autumn  season  was  much  milder  and  softer 
than  I  had  experienced  further  north.  The 
changes  are  sudden  from  dark  to  bright,  from  rainy 
to  clear.  This  part  of  England  has  a  Mediterranean 
climate.  Around  Penzance,  on  its  sloping  hill-sides, 
there  was  a  pleasing  girdle  of  green  gardens  and 
lelds,  though  almost  everywhere  else  sand  and 
:ock,  and  a  scantling  of  grass,  were  the  monotonous 
features  of  the  scenery.  The  myrtle  and  hy- 
drangea, and  other  Southern  European  plants,  grow 


400  OLD  ENGLAND. 

freely  in  the  open  air.  The  winter  temperature  of 
Penzance  is  42°,  while  that  in  the  neighborhood  of 
London  is  35°.  The  summer  is  cooler  and  the 
winter  warmer.  Penzance  is  also  well  protected 
from  the  tremendous  westerly  gales  which  are  the 
most  severe  of  any  in  England ;  though  in  the 
spring  of  the  year  its  easterly  exposure  makes  it 
somewhat  uncomfortable.  It  is  becoming  quite  a 
health-resort.  It  were  worth  a  visit  to  make  the 
evening  promenade  along  the  sounding  beach,  and 
to  see  the  Atlantic  billows  roll  into  "  Mount's  Bay," 
and  the  sun  sink  behind  the  stern  rocks  and  barren 
hills  toward  Land's  End. 

"Mount's  Bay"  is  a  singular  example  of  the 
geological  theory,  of  the  comparatively  recent  sink- 
ing of  the  land  to  form  an  ocean  floor.  Evidences 
of  the  submerged  forests  frequently  make  their 
appearance.  "  St.  Michael's  Mount  "  was  once, 
by  tradition,  a  rock  in  the  midst  of  a  great  internal 
forest. 

One  should  not  forjret  while  in  Penzance  to 
visit  the  Serpentine  Stone  Works.  This  beautiful 
igneous  stone  which  takes  such  an  exquisite  polish, 
is  procured  mostly  from  the  Lizard  near  by  ;  it  has 
for  its  basis  the  silicate  of  magnesia,  with  oxide 
cf  iron,  chromium,  and  manganese.  The  silicate 
of  aluminum  gives  it  a  golden  gleam.  Few  an- 
tique  marbles,  such  as  one  picks  up  amid  the  ruins 
of  Rome  or  Baia?,  may  compare  with  the  richness 
of  this  dark  red  and  green  variegated  stone,  as  if  it 
still  hell  the  fires  that  hardened  it.     The  end  o. 


CORNWALL  AND  PENZANCE.  401 

England  is  ever-pointed.  The  ocean  vainly  washes 
its  everlasting  hills. 

In  the  summer  time  the  contrasts  of  these  richly 
colored  rocks  of  the  Lizard,  with  the  pearly  white 
6ands  of  the  little  coves  and  bays,  and  the  blue 
waters  of  ocean,  are  said  to  be  exquisitely  beautiful 
and  fairy-like. 

There  is  a  good  geological  museum  at  Penzance. 
The  town,  of  about  seven  thousand  inhabitants,  is 
a  primitive  place  enough.  My  chamber  window 
at  the  old-fashioned  inn  looked  out  on  the  quiet 
yards,  ancient  chimney-pots,  and  lonely  blue  sea  be- 
yond. I  ate  my  solitary  meal  in  dignified  silence. 
Walking  the  streets  one  feels  somewhat  like  a  "  pil- 
chard "  on  shore,  or  a  bird  that  has  wandered  from 
its  place.  Yet  every  one  is  polite  and  good-na- 
tured. Only  you  are  a  break,  an  exception,  in  the 
well-soldered  community.  You  belong  to  another 
than  the  Cornwall  world  of  things.  When  you 
nave  seen  Penzance  and  Land's  End,  go  back  to 
London,  to  Paris,  to  the  world. 

At  the  evening;  hour  some  horrid  noises  and 
yells  rang  through  the  sober  little  Methodist  town. 
A  squad  of  beery  fishermen,  or  flush  young  miners, 
were  making:  a  demonstration  in  their  congenial 
darkness, —  dangerous  business  one  would  think  so 
near  the  jumping-off  place. 

I  paid  a  visit  to  Marazion,  or  Market  Jew,  a  walk 

uf  about  three  miles  on  the  northern  shore ;  it  is  an 

ancient  town,  where  tin  was  worked  by  the  Jews  in 

he  reign  of  King  John,  and  even  earlier.     It  is,  in 

26 


i02  OLD  ENGLAND. 

Pact,  the  oldest  town  in  Cornwall.  It  stands  upon  a 
hill-side  which  slopes  to  the  north,  and  contains 
some  very  old  houses,  furnaces,  and  relics  of  the  prim- 
itive Jewish  town.  The  "  Marazion  circle  "  of  tin 
mines,  some  twenty-seven  in  number,  have  the  rep- 
utation of  bein<T  losing;  and  unfortunate  concerns. 

Just  opposite  Marazion  is  "  St.  Michael's  Mount." 
It  stands  either  entirely  out  of  the  sea  as  an  island, 
or  as  forming  the  end  of  a  very  doubtful  and  moist 
peninsula,  according  to  the  time  of  day  you  visit  it. 
That  it  was  the  ancient  "  Ictis,"  and  that  the  Isle 
of  Wight  was  not,  in  spite  of  its  Latin  name,  all  at 
least  who  visit  Cornwall  are  prepared  to  defend. 
The  famous  passage  from  Deodorus,  a  writer  in  the 
the  time  of  Augustus  Caesar,  reads  thus  :  "  The  in- 
habitants of  that  extremity  of  Briton  which  is  called 
Bolerion "    (supposed   to    be    Land's    End)  "  both 
excel  in  hospitality,  and  also,  by  reason  of  their  in- 
tercourse with  foreign  merchants,  they  are  civilized 
in  their  mode  of  life.     These  prepare  the  tin,  work- 
ing  very  skillfully   the    earth   which    produces    it. 
The  ground  is  rocky  but  it  has  in  it  eartn^  veins, 
the  produce  of  which  is  brought  down  and  melted 
and  purified.     Then,  when  they  have  cast  it  into 
the  form  of  cubes,  they  carry  it  to  a  certain  island 
adjoining  to  Britain  and  called  Iktis.     During  the 
recess  of  the  tide  the  intervening  space  is  left  dry, 
and  they  carry  over  abundance  of  tin  to  this  place 
in  their  carts  ;  and  it    is    something   peculiar  that 
happens  to  these   islands  in   those  parts  lying  be- 
tween Europe  and  Britain  ;  for  at  full  tide,  the  in« 


CORNWALL  AND  PENZANCE.  403 

tervening  passages  being  overflowed,  they  appear 
like  islands ;  but  when  the  sea  returns  a  large  space 
is  left  dry,  and  they  are  seen  as  peninsulas.  From 
hence,  then,  the  traders  purchase  the  tin  of  the  na- 
tives, and  transport  it  into  Gaul,  and  finally,  travel- 
ling through  Gaul  on  foot  in  about  thirty  days,  they 
bring  their  burdens  on  horseback  to  the  mouth  of 
the  Rhone." 

Thus  the  "  Mount  "  is  probably  the  earliest  his- 
toric point  in  England.  It  is  the  link  that  con- 
nected Britain  with  the  civilization  of  Rome  and 
the  East.  It  afterward  assumed  an  ecclesiastical 
character,  and  was  the  place  of  pilgrimages  to  the 
shrine  of  the  angel  "  Michael,"  who  alighted  on 
the  rock  in  his  flight  from  heaven.  Lady  Catherine 
Gordon,  ("  Rose  of  Scotland,")  wife  of  Perkin 
Warbeck,  took  refuge  here.  Charles  I.  visited  it 
during  the  wars  with  the  Parliament.  The  Corn- 
ish men  were  strong  rovalists. 

When  I  saw  the  "  Mount,"  it  rose  majestically 
from  the  bosom  of  the  sea,  and  the  waves  dashed 
around  its  base.  One  could  hardly  believe  that  it 
was  not  always  an  island,  for  it  is  some  distance 
from  the  shore.  Two  strong  fellows  pulled  me  out 
to  it,  and  seemed  quite  anxious  that  my  visit  should 
be  a  short  one,  for  the  storm  was  brewing  fast. 
Landing  on  the  old  slimy  stone  pier,  I  found  quite 
it  marine  colony  there.  Fishermen  hung  about  on 
the  sea-wall,  smoking  their  pipes,  and  watching  the 
yeering  and  menacing  clouds.  I  ran  up  the  broken 
grassy  steep  at  the  foot  of  the  castle,  and  to  my 


404  OLD  ENGLAND. 

surprise  was  admitted  to  a  beautiful  castellated 
residence,  the  property  of  the  St.  Aubyn  family. 
The  room  called  "  Chevy-Chace  Hall,"  and  the 
other  apartments,  though  small,  are  handsomely 
furnished,  and  are  lived  in  during  some  months  of 
the  year.  The  chapel  is  the  chapel  of  the  old 
Benedictine  Monastery.  I  went  up  on  the  battle- 
ments, and  had  a  noble  view  of  the  whole  extent 
of  "  Mount's  Bay  "  to  the  Lizard  on  the  north,  and 
Penzance  with  its  background  of  green  hills  and 
villas,  and  the  bold  black  headlands  toward  Land's 
End  on  the  south.  The  last  storm  had  shaken  the 
castle  to  its  foundations,  and  even  now  the  wind 
was  so  strong  that  it  was  difficult  standing.  Here 
is  the  famous  stone  chair  jutting  out  from  the  top- 
most battlement  over  the  abyss,  which  secures  to 
one  who  first  sits  in  it  the  authority  in  the  domestic 
circle. 

On  our  return  we  did  not  have  quite  so  success- 
ful a  time.  The  sea  had  risen  considerably,  and  in 
approaching  the  shore  we  made  two  ineffectual 
attempts  to  ride  in  on  a  big  wave,  and  were  well 
drenched  ;  but  by  skillful  management  we  at  length 
shot  in  on  top  of  a  long  roller. 

The  "  Mount  "  is  an  impressive  object  from  the 
shore.  It  rises  pyramidically  in  bold  steps  or  plat- 
forms, crowned  by  the  compact  though  irregular 
mass  of  the  castle,  which  seems  to  grow  out  of  the 
rock.  1  tried  to  discover  the  "  lion  "  that  guards 
the  Mount.  A  rude  mass  of  granite  looking  south- 
ward, by  a  lively  imagination,  might  be  shaped  into 


CORNWALL  AND   PENZANCE.  405 

a  monstrous  lion.  While  we  are  (in  fancy)  look- 
ing at  the  "  Mount,"  lifting  itself  like  a  vision  of 
majestic  power  through  the  scud  of  the  whistling 
storm,  let  us  hear  Milton's  lines  like  a  strain  of 
music  above  the  storm  :  — 

"  Bring  the  rathe  primrose  that  forsaken  dies, 
The  tufted  crow-toe,  and  pale  jessamine, 
The  white  pink,  and  the  pansy  freaked  with  jet. 
The  glowing  violet, 

The  musk-rose,  and  the  well-attired  woodhine, 
With  cowslips  wan  that  hang  the  pensive  head, 
And  every  flower  that  sad  embroidery  wears: 
Bid  amaranthus  all  his  beauty  shed, 
And  daffodillies  rill  their  cups  with  tears, 
To  strew  the  laureate  hearse  where  Lycid  lies  — 
For,  so  to  interpose  a  little  ease, 
Let  our  frail  thoughts  dally  with  false  surmise. 
Aye  me !  whilst  thee  the  shores  and  sounding  seas 
Wash  far  away,  where'er  thy  bones  are  hurled, 
Whether  beyond  the  stormy  Hebrides, 
Where  thou  perhaps,  under  the  whelming  tide, 
Visitest  the  bottom  of  the  monstrous  world ; 
Or  whether  thou,  to  our  moist  vows  denied, 
Sleep'st  by  the  fable  of  Bellerus  old, 
Where  the  great  vision  of  the  guarded  Mount 
JjOoks  toward  Namancos  and  Bay/ma's  hold ; 
Look  homeward,  angel,  now,  and  melt  with  ruth; 
And  0  ye  dolphins,  waft  the  hapless  youth. 

Weep  no  more,  woful  shepherds,  weep  no  more." 

Since  I  have  quoted  so  much,  I  will  not  omit 
giving  also  an  extract  from  the  fine  poem  of 
Bowles,  (the  inspirer  of  Coleridge's  poetic  gen- 
i  is,)  upon  St.  Michael's  Mount :  — 

'•  Mountain !  no  pomp  of  waving  woods  hast  thou, 
That  deck  with  varied  shade  thy  hoary  brow; 
No  sunny  meadows  at  thy  feet  are  spread,  — 
No  streamlets  sparkle  o'er  their  pebbly  bed; 


406  OLD  ENGLAND. 

But  thou  canst  boast  thy  beauties,  —  ample  view* 
That  catch  the  rapt  eye  of  the  pausing  Muss : 
Headlands  around  new-lighted;  sails,  and  seas 
Now  glassy  smooth,  —  now  wrinkling  to  the  breez*} 
And  when  the  drizzly  winter,  wrapt  in  sleet, 
Goes  by,  and  winds  and  rain  thy  ramparts  beat,  — 
Fancy  may  see  thee  standing  thus  aloof, 
And  frowning,  bleak  and  bare,  and  tempest-proof^ 
Look,  as  with  awful  confidence,  and  brave 
The  howling  hurricane ;  —  the  dashing  wave ; 
More  graceful  when  the  storm's  dark  vapors  frows. 
Than  when  the  summer  suns  in  pomp  go  down." 


CHAPTER  XXIL 
land's  end. 

The  next  morning  there  was  a  driving  storm, 
but  I  determined  to  see  Land's  End  that  day,  and 
was  rather  glad  that  1  could  see  it  in  all  its 
grandeur. 

I  started  early  with  a  silent  but  well-mannered 
driver,  in  an  open  wagon,  and  with  a  powerful  fast- 
trotting  bay  horse.  The  wind  blew  too  hard  for 
an  umbrella ;  so,  tucking  ourselves  in  as  well  as  we 
could,  we  made  up  our  minds  for  a  thorough  wet- 
ting. The  drive  to  Land's  End  in  a  direct  line  is 
about  eleven  miles,  though  longer  by  the  course  we 
took.  We  skirted  the  bay  till  the  road  began  to 
ascend  toward  New  Lyn,  giving  us  broad  views  of 
Penzance  and  the  harbor.  We  came  at  length 
upon  the  high  table-land,  rocky  and  dismal,  with  a 
little  sprinkling  of  grass  and  Cornish  fern. 

As  if  determined  to  get  to  mvself  all  the  dis- 
agreeabilities  possible  that  day,  I  alighted  in  the 
neighborhood  of  Lemorna  Cove,  and  ran  down  to 
aee  the  rock  scenery  of  that  rugged  bay,  intending 
to  meet  my  wagon  at  another  point  around  some- 
where further  on.  After  a  scrambling,  lonely  walk, 
.wer  stone  and  bog,  I  came  out,  as  I  suppose;!,  at 
'die  appointed  spot,  but  no  carriage  was  there.     It 


408  OLD  ENGLAND. 

was  a  desolate  place  and  a  wild  storm.  I  was  puz- 
zled what  to  do.  I  thought  it  best  to  walk  on  in 
what  I  conceived  to  be  the  direction  of  Penzance, 
thinking  that  I  might  come  upon  a  house,  or  meet 
a  traveler.  After  walking  some  time  in  this  state 
of  suspense,  to  my  great  satisfaction  my  lone  dog- 
cart hove  in  sight  at  a  considerable  distance  off, 
coming  in  a  totally  opposite  direction  from  what 
I  had  anticipated.  I  will  not  pretend  to  go  into 
explanations  ;  but  the  driver  declared  that  he  had 
been  faithful  to  his  part  of  the  engagement,  had 
been  to  the  appointed  place,  and  not  finding  me 
there,  had  come  on  to  seek  me.  "  All 's  well  that 
ends  well,"  I  thought,  especially  if  it  lands  me  at 
Land's  End. 

We  left  St.  Buryan  to  the  right,  with  its  lofty 
old  church-tower  four  hundred  and  sixty-seven  feet 
above  the  sea  level,  the  most  conspicuous  object  on 
the  moor,  and  a  beacon  to  ships  far  out  at  sea.  1 
stopped  to  examine  the  Druidic  circle  of  the 
"  Merry  Maidens  and  Piper,"  consisting  of  six- 
teen moss  grown  gray  stones  ranged  in  a  circular 
form.  They  were  once,  it  is  said,  frolicsome  Cor 
nish  maidens,  petrified  for  dancing  on  Sunday. 
But  how  hard  and  angular  they  have  grown  since 
then  !  In  the  storm-wind  that  whistled  by  them 
the  ancient  piper  might  be  heard  to  play  again, 
but  their  dancing  days  are  over.  This  circle  be- 
'ongs  doubtless  to  the  same  ancient  Celtic  system 
•of  burial,  or  worship,  to  which  Stonehenge  be- 
•onged. 


LAND'S   END.  409 

Cornwall  is  full  of  these  old  circles  and  crom- 
echs  ;  it  is  the  land  of  pagan  legend  and  mystery. 
[t  does  not  look  like  green,  sunny,  merry,  Christian 
England.  It  has  a  wild,  broken,  granitic  scenery. 
Its  very  names  have  strange  old  heathen  sounds  — • 
such  as  Lemorna,  Trengothal,  Trereen,  Lanyon, 
Penryn,  Madon  ! 

We  stopped  for  a  moment  to  see  an  antique 
Btone  cross,  —  a  cross  within  a  circle.  It  was  a 
remnant  of  the  earliest  days  of  Christianity  in 
England.  How  it  did  rain  and  blow  when  I 
tramped  down  from  the  streaming  thatched-roofed 
cottages  of  Trereen,  over  the  rocky  meadows  to 
the  sea-side,  to  take  a  look  at  the  "  Logan  Stone." 
It  was  any  thing  but  a  comfortable  feat  to  climb 
up  to  it,  and  still  less  atop  of  it,  in  such  a  storm. 
But  I  was  fairly  in  for  it.  I  shall  always  contend 
that  it  was  just  the  season,  and  just  the  day  of  all 
days,  to  see  this  grand  rock-coast  scenery.  Who 
would  go  to  Italy  in  mid-winter  for  Italian  scenery  ! 
Who  would  see  Land's  End  in  summer  sunshine  ! 

The  "  Logan  Stone  "  is  a  detached  mass  of  rock, 
perched  on  a  lofty  pi'omontory  jutting  out  into  the 
Bea,  and  is  about  seventeen  feet  hiovh,  and  weighs 
s'.xty-five  tons.  My  guide  laid  his  broad  shoulders 
tc  it,  and  made  it  rock  slightly.  It  was  once 
thrown  over  by  the  freak  of  an  English  midship- 
man, and  was  reinstated  with  great  difficulty  and 
expense.  Being  originally  a  cubical  mass  of 
granite,  by  the  action  of  storm  and  time  its  base 
bad  become  disintegrated,  so  that  'A  now  rests  on  a 


410  OLD  ENGLAND. 

separate  neck  or  pivot.  The  perpendicular  rocki 
about  it,  seamed  and  scarred,  with  the  hollow 
scooped  out  by  rain  and  storm,  called  "  The  Giant's 
Throne,"  like  the  chair  in  which  Gothe's  ancient 
king  sat,  when  he  cast  the  golden  goblet  into  the 
sea,  are  fully  as  interesting  in  themselves  as  the 
"  Logan  Stone."  Treryn  Castle,  in  the  days  of 
the  Britons,  is  said  to  have  stood  here.  I  am  in- 
clined to  think,  however,  that  the  castellated  con- 
formation of  the  rocks  has  given  rise  to  this  tradi- 
tion.  Here  also  is  a  fine  point  of  view  of  the 
stern  coast  scenery,  the  rocky  headlands  and  deep 
indented  bays,  with  great  caverns  dug  out  by  the 
waves,  and  "  swilled  by  the  wild  and  wasteful 
ocean." 

We  went  on,  turning  here  and  there  into  cross- 
roads, that  would  have  sorely  puzzled  a  stranger. 
It  seemed  as  if  now  that  point  ahead  were  Land's 
End,  and  then  another  point,  and  then  another 
still.  The  scenery  grew  more  desolate  and  dismal, 
this  effect  being  undoubtedly  heightened  by  the 
black  storm.  We  passed  a  cheerless  stone  house 
facing  the  ocean,  upon  one  side  of  which  was 
written  "  The  Last  Inn  in  England,"  and  upon  the 
other  side  "  The  First  Inn  in  England." 

When  we  actually  turned  down  to  go  out  to  the 
promontory  termed  Land's  End,  I  will  not  say  that 
the  wind  blew  us  bodily  off  the  road,  if  road  it 
might  be  called  over  the  moor ;  but  it  seemed  at 
one  time  doubtful  whether  we  could  stem  the 
Ctorm,  or  make   any  headway  at  all.     The  blasts 


LAND'S   END.  411 

from  the  ocean  were  tremendous.  In  such  a  storm 
sweeping  around  England's  coast,  Shakspeare  must 
have  written  the  words  that  Macbeth  spoke  to  the 
witches :  — 

"  Though  you  untie  the  winds,  and  let  them  fight 
Against  the  churches;  though  the  yesty  -waves 
Confound  and  swallow  navigation  up; 
Though  bladed  corn  be  lodged,  and  trees  blown  down; 
Though  castles  topple  on  their  warders'  heads; 
Though  palaces  and  pyramids  do  slope 
Their  heads  to  their  foundations;  though  the  treasure 
Of  Nature's  germins  tumble  all  together, 
Even  till  destruction  sicken,  answer  me 
To  what  I  ask  you." 

There  is  an  idea  of  the  all-levelling  might  of  the 
ocean  blast,  in  these  lines,  that  one  can  better  ap- 
preciate who  is  mad  enough  to  attempt  to  face  it, 
on  the  barren  unprotected  slopes  that  lead  out  to 
the  extreme  end,  —  or  one  might  say,  —  the  prow 
of  England,  where  she  plunges  into  the  Atlantic. 

When  we  came  at  length  to  actually  the  last 
house  in  England,  a  lonely  low  fisherman's  hovel, 
standing  slightly  on  one  side  of  the  promontory 
termed  "  Land's  End,"  we  had  to  take  advantage 
of  a  slight  lull  to  run  from  the  shed  to  the  house. 
There  was  no  seeing  it  at  that  moment.  A  man 
^ould  not  well  go  upon  the  rocks  at  the  height  of 
3uch  a  tempest.  He  would  have  run  the  risk  of 
being  blown  off  like  a  cotton  ball.  The  sea  just 
below  us  was  in  a  state  of  furious  agitation.  Through 
the  rain  and  the  flying  scud  we  could  just  see,  with 
»  glass,  the  tall  white  pillar  of  w  Long  Ships  Light- 
house," a  mile  from  shore,  to  the  top  of  which  the 


412  OLD  ENGLAND. 

foam  of  the  billows  flew,  though  it  stands  one  hun- 

7  O 

dred  and  twelve  feet  above  the  level  of  the  sea. 

Some  coals  were  smouldering  on  the  rude  hearth, 
and  the  old  fisherman  who  inhabits  the  house 
roasted  a  pilchard,  and  with  a  cup  of  tea  and  hard 
sea-biscuit,  we  made  a  famous  meal.  It  was  of 
Uttle  use  to  attempt  to  dry  our  clothes. 

After  waiting  an  hour  or  so,  there  seemed  to  be 
gome  abatement  of  the  storm,  or  there  was,  at 
least,  a  perceptible  interval  between  the  blasts.  In 
one  of  these  comparative  lulls,  the  fisherman  said 
we  might  make  a  run  for  it.  We  had  to  traverse 
quite  a  tract  or  hollow,  and  then  climb  over  the 
crown  of  a  hill.  The  fisherman  and  I  started  at  a 
rapid  run.  Before  we  reached  the  top  of  the 
promontory,  the  gust  came  on  again,  and  I  had  to 
depend  upon  my  guide's  strong  arm  to  stagger 
against  the  violence  of  the  side-blast,  and  to  get 
over  the  hill  into  a  more  sheltered  spot.  Great 
flakes  of  blinding  foam  flew  like  a  snow-storm  over 
and  around.  When  we  had  struggled  over  the  hill, 
we  crept  along  its  side  under  the  lee  of  some  cliffs, 
though  the  bank  of  slippery  turf  slopes  off  here 
quite  abruptly.  Proceeding  carefully,  and  clinging 
to  the  summit  of  the  cliffs,  we  picked  our  way 
down,  shelf  after  shelf,  worming  through  and  over 

7  '  O  © 

the  crags,  till  we  came  to  a  jutting  mass  of  rock 
beyond  which  there  was  nothing,  and  holding  me 
in  his  iron  grasp,  the  guide  and  I  stepped  upon  this 
outstanding  rock,  and  looking  over   its  edge   into 

©  O         m  © 

.he  foaming  abyss  below,  stood  upon  "  Land'i 
End." 


LAND'S   END.  41 


Q 


I  stayed  long  enough  to  knock  off  a  bit  of 
granite,  and  then  retired  a  few  steps  to  a  more 
sheltered  position,  where  I  might  take  a  deliberate 
view  of  the  scene.  Just  above  us  were  the  dark 
and  storm-scarred  fronts  of  the  granite  cliffs,  rising 
in  some  kind  of  columnar  regularity,  as  if  they 
were  the  gigantic  advance-guard  of  England,  sta- 

O   O  O  ©  7 

tioned  here  to  receive  the  first  shock  of  tempests. 

Off  the  crest  to  our  left  was  the  long  and  singu- 
larly  shaped  rock,  called  "  The  Armed  Knight ;  " 
and  a  few  more  black  and  formidable  crags  stretched 
from  the  end  of  the  promontory,  though  buried  at 
moments  amid  the  boiling  waves. 

© 

How  grand,  beyond  description,  was  the  sight  of 
the  roused  Atlantic  hurling  its  maddened  strength 
upon  the  rocks,  which  bore  the  marks  of  a  thou- 
sand such  conflicts,  and  were  there  still,  firm  and 
unshaken,  where  God  had  placed  them,  to  guard 
the  land ! 

I  watched  the  great  billows  pouring  swiftly  in 
upon  the  land,  unconscious  that  they  had  come  to 
the  end  of  their  course,  and  then  suddenly,  furi- 
ously, flinging  themselves  on  high,  as  if  in  astonish- 
ment at  meeting  resistance,  covering  the  tallest 
cliffs  with  their  rage  and  foam. 

© 

In  creeping  back  over  the  crags,  I  found  we  had 
come  over  a  natural  arch,  which  links  the  ex- 
tremity of  the  promontory  to  the  main  land.  By 
stretching  one's  self  upon  a  iedge,  and  looking 
around  a  corner,  one  sees  clean  through  the  vault 

7  © 

oeneath  into  which  the  ocean  rushes  and  roars  aa 
€  in  play. 


414  OLD  ENGLAND. 

We  saw  a  mast  with  tangled  cordage  still  hang 
ing  to  it,  rolling  and  tumbling  about  in  the  foam, 
which  my  guide  said  must  have  been  a  part  of  a 
very  recent  wreck. 

Of  course  I  did  not  see  the  Scilly  Islands  in 
such  weather.  They  may  be  seen,  however,  if  I 
mistake  not,  in  clear  weather,  from  this  point- 
The  tradition  is  that  they  were  once  connected 
with  the  main  land  ;  and  fable  and  mystery  still 
enwrap  them,  lying  as  they  do  in  the  very  eye  of 
the  sunset  far  out  on  the  lonely  wastes  of  the 
ocean.  There  are  to  be  found  in  these  islands, 
it  is  said,  spots  of  greenery  and  beauty  that  are 
truly  delicious. 

ItecraininCT  the  house,  and  waiting  some  time 
longer  for  the  storm  to  subside  a  little,  we  made  a 
start  for  Sennen  and  the  Botallack  mines ;  and 
amid  a  driving  tempest  of  rain  we  went  on  to  the 
north,  over  a  bleak  moorland,  passing  by  very  few 
villages  or  signs  of  habitations,  leaving  the  frown- 

©  ©  '  o 

ing  headland  of  Cape  Cornwall  on  our  left,  and  in 
the  latter  part  of  the  afternoon  reached  Botallack. 
There  are  few  things  in  the  works  of  man  more 

© 

darino-  or  wonderful  than  the  Botallack  mines  ;  for 

© 

where  the  veins  of  copper  and  tin  run  off  into  the 
ocean,  there  man  has  stationed  himself  to  inter- 
cept them,  and  has  not  only  followed  them  to  the 
edge  of  the  land,  but  has  pursued  them  far  under 
She  sea. 

Along  the  face  of  a  lofty  precipice  which  de* 
Bcends  sheer  into  the  ocean,  and  is  exposed  to  al. 


LAND'S  END.  415 

the  fury  of  the  Atlantic,  mining  works,  tram -ways, 
and  ladders,  have  been  constructed,  so  that  they 
dangle  down  over  the  face  of  the  enormous  cliff  in 
the  most  extraordinary  and  appalling  way.  Half 
down  the  precipice  a  steam-engine  is  stationed, 
which  serenely  pumps  away  in  spite  of  wind  and 
storm.  Far  up  above  it  on  the  edge  of  the  rock 
are  other  works  ;  for  the  ore  is  carried  up  the  face 
of  the  cliff  to  the  upper  sheds,  as  if  men  were  lit- 
erally living  and  working  over  the  steepest  side  of 
Gibraltar.  I  went  to  the  mouth  of  the  midway 
shaft  with  the  intention  of  descending  into  the 
mine  ;  but  it  was  Saturday  afternoon,  paying-time, 
and  the  mines  were  not  in  operation. 

This  mine,  I  have  said,  runs  under  the  ocean  ; 
and  it  comes  up  in  one  place  where  the  miners 
have  pursued  a  vein  to  within  five  or  six  feet  of  the 
floor  of  the  ocean,  so  that  in  a  storm,  the  rolling 
and  grinding  of  the  great  rocks  and  pebbles  on 
the  bed  of  the  ocean  overhead  may  be  distinctly 
heard  ;  and  always  the  solemn  thunder  of  the  sea 
is  faintly  audible. 

The  Botallack  mines  are  now  chiefly  worked 
for  copper,  although  they  have  yielded  in  former 
times  very  richly  in  tin ;  and  they  are  said  to  have 
afforded  a  profit  at  one  time  of  ,£300,000. 

On  the  edge  of  the  evening  we  reached  Pen- 
deen  ;  and  we  drove  up  in  the  midst  of  the  still 
violent  tempest  to  the  door  of  Rev.  Mr.  A.'s  house, 
the  clergyman  to  whom  I  had  a  note  of  introduc- 
tion.    His  house  was  situated  in  a  large  yard,  with 


416  OLD  ENGLAND. 

a  high  wall  around  it,  containing  his  church  and 
house,  —  in  fact  a  kind  of  modern  "  conventual 
establishment  "  on  a  small  scale.  A  large,  com- 
manding-looking, elderly  gentleman,  in  a  long  black 
cassock,  or  dressing-gown,  received  me  at  the  door 
with  great  cordiality  ;  and  soon  I  wTas  drying  my 
dripping  clothes,  and  warming  my  chilled  limbs  be- 
fore a  glowing  grate,  in  a  room  which  was  the 
very  picture  of  ecclesiastical  repose  and  gravity. 

"  The  vicar  was  of  bulk  and  thews, 
Six  feet  he  stood  within  his  shoes, 
And  every  inch  of  all  a  man ; 
Ecclesiast  on  the  ancient  plan, 
Unforced  by  any  party  rule 
His  native  character  to  school ; 
In  ancient  learning  not  unread, 
But  had  few  doctrines  in  his  head; 
Dissenters  truly  he  abhorred, 
They  never  had  his  gracious  word. 
He  ne'er  was  bitter  or  unkind, 
But  positively  spoke  his  mind. 
Their  piety  he  could  not  bear, 
A  sneaking,  snivelling  set  they  were: 
Their  tricks  and  meanness  fired  his  blood; 
Up  for  his  Church  he  stoutly  stood. 
No  worldly  aim  had  he  in  life 
To  set  him  with  himself  at  strife." 

The  description  of  Arthur  Hugh  Clough's,  might 
in  essentials  apply  to  the  bulky  and  dignified  man 
who  had  thus  received  me  out  of  the  wild  storm 
Into  his  hospitable  house.  It  was  indeed  a  sudden 
transition.  The  comfortable  though  austere  par- 
lor,  in  which  my  entertainer  and  myself  sat  during 
.he  evening,  while  the  tempest  raved  without,  was 
aung  with  pictures    of  old   Catholic    subjects   anc 


iy 


LAND'S  END.  417 

laints ;  a  mediseval  brass-bound  coffer  stood  on  the 
centre-table  to  hold  valuable  papers  ;  bits  of  painted 
glass,  and  plans  for  church  architecture,  were  upon 
the  mantel-piece  and  scattered  about  the  room ; 
and  a  large  case  of  books  filled  up  one  end.  Most 
of  these  books  were  the  works  of  the  French  Jan- 
senists,  and  came  from  the  original  Port  Royal 
library.  They  were  bequeathed  to  Mr.  A.,  as  I 
understood  him  to  say,  by  Mrs.  Schimmelpenninck, 
the  biographer  of  the  Port  Royalists.""  Such  little 
marks  would  at  once  indicate  something  of  the  re- 
ligious  status  and  character  of  my  excellent  host, 
but  they  would  by  no  means  tell  all ;  nor  do  I  feel 
myself  permitted  to  tell  all  ;  and  yet  I  do  not  think 
a  man  like  Mr.  A.  would  be  annoyed  by  the  men- 
tion of  some  of  his  peculiar  ecclesiastical  views, 
which  are  well  known,  and  which  illustrate  one 
phase  of  the  religious  condition  of  England  at  the 
present  time. 

A  man  of  high  culture  and  powerful  mind  he  had 
aspired  to  something  more  than  intellectual  emi- 
nence. He  aimed  at  a  life  of  exclusive  devotion  to 
the  higher  truths  of  Faith  and  the  Divine  life. 
There  was  a  strong  infusion  of  the  mystic,  and 
even  ascetic  element,  coloring  and  shading  his 
hearty  religious  sympathies.  He  believed  in  widely 
different  and  progressive  spheres  of- spiritual  attain- 
ment ;  that  all  men  were  not  capable  of  the  highest 
spirituality,  and  that  perhaps  this  distinction  would 
'brever  exist.  There  were  some  who  were  called 
o  a  life  of  exclusive  consecration  to,  and  of  purer 
27 


418  OLD  ENGLAND. 

union  \rith  the  All-Perfect.  They  were  chosen 
spirits,  men  who,  like  Paul,  despised  their  material 
nature,  denied  themselves  the  delights  of  taste, 
and  whose  spirits  were  continual  temples  of  God ; 
hey  were  the  select  priests  of  God  ;  they  were 
the  peculiar  media  of  His  transmitted  Spirit.  He 
believed  in  this  true  Apostolic  succession,  and 
was  an  earnest  supporter  of  the  Tractarian  view 
of  the  Church,  the  order  of  its  ministry,  the  com- 
prehensiveness of  its  service,  and  the  vital  efficacy 
of  its  sacraments.  He  declared  decidedly,  that  the 
only  hope  of  the  Church  of  England,  and  of  Eng- 
land in  a  religious  point  of  view,  lay  in  the  Puseyite 
wing  of  the  Church;  not  in  the  unconverted  por- 
tion of  it,  who  only  formed  the  skeleton  and  dry 
bones,  but  in  those  whom  God's  Spirit  had  renewed. 
They  were  fitted,  he  said,  by  their  legal  education, 
their  lives  of  self-denial  and  self-mastery,  to  en- 
dure hardness,  as  good  soldiers  of  Jesus  Christ, 
and  were  like  John  the  Baptist,  coming  up  out 
of  the  wilderness,  to  proclaim  the  advent  of  the 
true  Light.  They  were  men,  hardy,  single-eyed, 
•vnd  able  to  do  men's  work,  And  they  held  the 
only  true  conception  of  the  Church  of  God.  He 
had  learned  this  truth  through  much  strife  and 
affliction.  He  had  once  been  an  evangelist,  eoinor 
here  and  there,  preaching  as  he  pleased  and 
where  he  pleased.  He  had  thought  that  all  men 
shared  equally  God's  Spirit.  But  he  had  been 
drawn  to  the  truth  of  the  visible  unity  of  the 
Church,  —  that  it  must  be  somewhere.     If  it  wera 


LAND'S  END.  419 

in  Rome,  he  determined  to  go  there.  It  was.  hp 
found  by  searching  and  prayer,  where  one  Spirit  is 
given  in  baptism  by  the  hands  of  one  chosen  body 
of  anointed  ministers,  forming  one  visible  Church  of 
Christ  in  the  world.  He  then  turned  to  the  Eng- 
lish  Church,  speaking  of  it  with  enthusiasm  as  a 
Church  of  the  true  order,  as  in  fact  the  Apostolic 
Church,  having  an  organic  life  from  the  earliest 
times,  and  possessing  the  true  signs  of  a  primitive 
foundation  of  God  :  —  but  I  will  not  continue  this 
particular  conversation,  excepting  to  say  that  while 
abhorring  schismatics  of  all  denominations,  he  held 
strongly  to  the  Methodist  theory  of  reformations 
or  revivals  of  religion.  He  went  to  the  extreme 
lengths  of  the  most  earnest  Methodist  in  this  re- 
spect ;  —  indeed  he  seemed  to  be  a  mixture  of 
Pusey  and  Wesley.  Yet  one  word  more  as  to  his 
religious  opinions  —  for  the  man  and  his  conversa- 
tion awoke  in  me  an  absorbing  interest. 

The  English  Prayer-Book,  he  considered,  pre- 
supposed conversion,  and  the  Sacraments  fed  the 
life  begun  at  conversion.  He  was  a  staunch  sacra- 
inentarian,  but  ever  in  a  high  and  spiritual  sense. 
He  thought  it  to  be  his  special  work  to  convert  the 
High  Church  party  of  England  to  a  more  spir- 
itual view  of  divine  things  ;  and  he  had  solemnly 
devoted  to  this  work  his  two  sons,  noble  young 
men,  with  one  of  whom  I  became  acquainted,  the 
other  being  in  Scotland  on  a  preaching  tour,  though 
still  an  undergraduate  at  Oxford.  These  self- 
derying  preachers  of  righteousness  coming  up  out 


420  OLD  ENGLAND. 

of  the  desert  and  grasping  the  kingdom  of  Heaven 
with  power,  they  were  the  ones  who  would  shake 
England,  and  arouse  her  from  her  sins  to  a  higher 
life. 

The  next  Sabbath  morning  I  was  awakened  by 
the  stentorian  voices  of  the  Cornwall  miners,  and 
of  the  humble  people  of  his  congregation,  who  were 
assembled  in  a  lower  room  to  pray  ;  and  certainly 
such  prayers  I  have  never  heard  before  or  since. 
It  was  like  the  roaring  of  lions  ;  it  was  storming 
the  throne  of  grace  ;  it  was  wrestling,  pleading 
before  the  hills,  agonizing,  crying,  almost  shouting 
to  God,  that  He  might  come  and  help  them.  — 
The  little  church  where  Divine  service  was  held 
was  built  after  the  model  of  the  one  at  Iona.  Its 
bare  white  internal  walls  were  decorated  bv  draw- 
mgs  roughly  executed,  though  with  some  spirit,  by 
young  Puseyite  clergymen,  as  Mr.  A.  told  me,  who 
had  from  time  to  time  visited  him  ;  —  there  were 
copies  of  Albrecht  Diirer's  "  Christ  in  the  Wil- 
derness ; "  Ary  Scheffer's  "  Christ  rescuing  the 
Lamb  ;  "  Bruno's  "  St.  Peter  ;  "  &c.  Texts  of 
Scripture,  and  symbolical  scrolls  and  ornaments, 
were  also  added,  and  the  whole  aspect  of  the 
church,  the  draped  altar,  the  intoning  of  the  Lit- 
urgy, the  kneeling  of  the  priest  at  the  altar,  were 
almost,  if  not  quite,  in  the  Roman  Catholic  fashion. 
Mr.  A.  preached  two  powerful  sermons,  the  one 
in  the  morning  upon  "  the  Marriage  Supper," 
which  feast,  he  said,  was  Spiritual  Joy,  of  which 
\\  should  strive  to  partake,  and  it  was  not  Justi 


& 


LAND'S   END.  421 

fication  or  Righteousness,  which  many  would  make 
of  it.  During  the  preaching  in  the  afternoon,  as 
the  storm  grew  more  furious  without  and  the 
church  more  gloomy  within,  and  the  deep  tones 
of  the  preacher's  voice,  rising  sometimes  into  start- 
ling loudness,  mingled  with  the  tremendous  blasts 
of  the  wind,  and  with  the  sobs  and  groans  of 
the  poor  miners,  who  sometimes  threw  up  their 
arms  wildly  into  the  air  in  the  ecstasy  of  their 
emotion,  —  it  was  assuredly  a  strange  and  solemn 
6cene.  Mr.  A.,  speaking  of  the  church  itself, 
called  it  the  spiritual  birthplace  of  many  noble 
and  distinguished  persons  ;  and  he  pointed  out  the 
very  seats  they  had  occupied  when  their  hearts 
were  touched.  He  appeared  to  me  a  kind  of  Eng- 
lish Louis  Harms,  in  his  rugged  individuality  and 
imperious  dogmatism,  mingled  as  they  were  with 
deep,  simple,  primitive  piety.  He  ruled  his  rocky 
vicarate  at  Land's  End  with  a  monarch's  sway. 

The  generous  hospitality  of  Mr.  A.  and  his  family 
to  myself,  a  perfect  stranger,  was  something  which 
seemed  to  me  beautiful,  and  which  I  can  never  for- 
get. He  is  certainly  a  man  whose  earnestness  and 
profound  consecration  to  his  Master's  work  cannot 
:je  doubted,  if  one  cannot  agree  with  him  in  all 
his  views.  He  repudiates  with  scorn  the  idea  of 
'being  considered  to  be  the  leader  of  a  sect  in  the 
English  Church,  as  there  has  been  some  attempt 
3ii  the  part  of  his  admirers  and  disciples  to  make 
if  him.  But  my  good  host  was,  I  think,  at  fault 
ji  his  confident  estimate  of  tl  e  power  of  the  High 


422  OLD   ENGLAND 

Church  movement.  Tractarianism  has  spent  its 
force.  At  one  time,  inspired  by  the  genius  of  New- 
man, the  learning  of  Pusey,  and  the  sweet  music 
of  Keble's  song,  it  was  mighty,  but  it  has  already 
had  its  day,  and  now  lives  only  in  the  puerilities  of 
Ritualism.  That  which  was  true  in  it  has  been 
dragged  down  and  overwhelmed  by  that  which 
was  false.  It  has  failed  to  Orientalize  the  English 
Church,  or  to  change  England  into  a  happy  mediaeval 
land,  rejoicing  in  the  sound  of  the  convent  bell. 
We  would  not  say  that  it  has  done  no  good,  but 
it  has  striven  to  set  up  the  dead  form  of  the  Church, 
before  the  living  Christ ;  it  has  denied  the  rights 
of  individual  conscience  and  reason,  and  it  cannot 
thus  hope  to  control  and  lead  English  mind.  The 
reaction  of  this,  in  the  main  untrue,  though  in  some 
respects  learned  and  refined  ecclesiasticism  mani- 
festing many  traits  of  the  noblest  unselfishness,  is 
rending  anew  the  English  Church,  and  armed 
powers,  strong  to  contend  against  the  truth,  and 
the  verv  life  of  the  Christian  faith,  have  sprung  up 
from  the  sowing  of  the  dragon's  teeth.  I  believe, 
however,  in  the  essential  truth  of  Mr.  A.'s  idea  of 
the  visible  unity  of  the  Christian  Church.  The 
best  minds  in  Christendom  have  always  pleaded  foi 
unity  ;  but  it  is  not  in  the  form  in  which  Mr.  A. 
puts  it.  It  is  not  in  uniformity  of  order,  government, 
or  worship,  but  in  this,  that  the  true  Church  is  the 
true  brotherhood  of  man,  and  all  who  love  Christ, 
Kho  hold  to  the  Head,  shall  love  one  another,  and 
lhall  know  one  another,  not  theoretically  and  invis- 


LAND'S   END.  423 

ibly,  but  visibly  and  openly  ;  they  shall  not  oppose 
and  wound  each   other  ;    they  shall  be  as  in   the 
primitive  times  one  in  deed  and  in  truth,  working  to- 
gether with  gladness  to  recover  the  world  to  God. 
"  There  is  one  body  and  one  spirit "  —  this  great 
truth  is  superior  to  Protestantism,  or  Catholicism, 
or  any  other  Churchism.     There  is  an  ideal  unity 
toward  which  all  should  ever  tend  and  strive,  but 
that  this  ideal   unity  shall  ever  be    perfectly  and 
concretely  realized  on  earth,  we  have  more  doubt 
about,  and  can  hardly  believe.     After  all  we  would 
be  chary  to   condemn    the    earnest   strivings   and 
methods  of  any  who  sincerely  profess  to  love  and 
serve  Christ  on  earth  ;  and  I  must  confess  that  the 
few  "  High  Church  "  clergymen  in  whose  society  I 
have  happened  to  be  thrown,  though  I  could  not 
agree  with  them  at  all  in  their  views,  were  person- 
ally by  far  the  most  scholar-like,  refined,  and  inter- 
esting men  of  all  the  English  clergymen  whom  I 
met. 

Having  now  reached  the  "  Land's  End "  of 
England,  both  physical  and  spiritual,  let  us  turn 
around  and  retrace  our  course  northward,  until  in 
the  neighborhood  of  Bristol  we  come  upon  our 
^ormer  steps,  and  thus  will  have  completed  the  cir- 
cuit of  this  little  land, — little  in  area,  but  vast 
in  crowded  interest  and  power. 


CHAPTER  XXni. 

NORTH    DEVON    AND    WELLS. 

From  Exeter  I  crossed  over  to  Barnstaple,  on 
the  North  Devon  coast,  going  from  water  to  water, 
or  from  the  river  Exe  to  the  Taw  River,  in  about 
two  hours.  An  old  Cornish  rebel  once  threatened 
to  cut  England  through  by  a  channel  here,  and  to 
make  South  Devon  and  Cornwall  an  island  ;  this 
would  have  been  a  "  Dutch  Gap "  with  a  ven- 
geance. But  forty  miles  or  less  of  canal,  through 
a  country  presenting  few  difficulties,  were  no  such 
great  thing  after  all.  The  ride  was  through  a 
thoroughly  pastoral  country,  with  great  numbers 
of  sheep  and  red  Devon  cattle  feeding  in  the  mead- 
ows. The  first  sight  of  the  river,  bridge,  and  tall 
tower  of  Barnstaple  was  pleasing  ;  and  I  found  it 
to  be  a  lively  little  town,  with  the  invariable  one 
long  street,  and  the  twro  hotels  of  the  "  Golden 
Lion  "  and  the  "  Fortescue  Arms,"  side  by  side,  in 
spirited  but  harmonious  rivalry. 

Bideford,  eight  miles  and  a  half  from  Barnstaple, 
looked  even  now,  as  Kingsley  has  so  vividly  de 
scribed  it  in  his    "  Westward  Ho  !  "  and  I  really 
seemed  myself  to  have  seen  it  before,  and  to  have 
strolled  on  its  long  quay.     It  is  one  of  those  old 


NORTH  DEVON   AND   WELLS.  425 

gray  sea-coast  towns  that  do  not  essentially  change, 
reminding  one  somewhat  of  Ayr  in  Scotland.  The 
tide  comes  pouring  in  magnificently  up  the  wide 
estuary  of  the  Torridge  River,  and  churning  through 
the  manv-arched  stone  bridge,  whose  builders,  ac- 
cording  to  the  chronicler  of  Sir  Amyas,  gained 
from  the  good  bishop  Grandison  of  Exeter,  "  par- 
ticipation in  all  spiritual  blessings  forever."  This 
famous  bridge  is  an  eighth  of  a  mile  long,  with 
twenty-four  arches,  solid  and  without  ornament. 
The  town  clusters  in  the  form  of  an  amphitheatre 
upon  the  steep  hillside,  from  the  summit  of  which 
is  a  wide  river  and  sea-view  ;  and  one  might  easily 
fancy  he  saw  in  some  ship  melting  into  the  bright 
sunset  light,  the  good  ship  Rose,  as  she  was  setting 
forth  on  her  long  voyage  to  the  golden  regions  of 
the  Western  Main.  The  river,  the  sea,  the  sun, 
all  here  say  "  Westward  Ho  !  " 

I  rode  to  Clovellv,  around  througn  Yeovale,  by 
1  Northam  Tower "  and  "  Pebble  Ridge,"  at 
«7hich  last  place  Ocean  has  done  what  Brunei  could 
hardly  have  done  under  the  same  conditions,  — 
built  a  straight  wall  of  rounded  pebble-stones,  reg- 
ularly laid  with  a  flat  top,  two  miles  long,  which 
serves  as  an  effectual  bar  to  her  encroachments,  at 
the  same  time  immovable  and  permeable,  —  "the 
labor  of  an  age  in  piled  stones."  It  is  strange  that 
this  hint  which  Ocean  has  given  of  constructing 
lea-walls  of  round  pebMe  or  paving  stones,  simply 
heaped  together  in  a  compact  form,  has  not  been 
?opied  by  man. 


426  OLD  ENGLAND. 

The  road  to  Clovelly  was  a  flowery  pathway, 
fringed  with  the  sweet  honeysuckle,  and  all  varie- 
ties of  ferns,  the  foxglove,  the  key-flox,  the  canker 
bramble,  the  blossoming  furze,  the  wild  straw- 
berry, and  many  other  wild  flowers  and  shrubs,  tLat 
continually  attract  the  attention  by  their  beauty 
and  profusion.  And  what  splendid  posting  roads ! 
How  smoothly  we  bowled  along,  up  hill  and  down, 
passing  farmers  in  their  small  wagons,  driving  with 
the  same  free  rein,  with  an  air  of  substance  and 
Bolid  independence  about  their  whole  establishment. 
As  we  rose  upon  the  hills  and  neared  the  edge  of 
the  coast,  fine  views  of  the  wide,  foam-fringed  ex- 
panse of  Bideford  Bay  opened  to  us ;  and  I  recall 
the  view  especially  from  "  Buck's  Cross,"  where 
the  sight  of  the  bright  blue  sea  beyond  the  dark 
cliffs,  gives  that  strong  contrast  of  colors,  which  is 
peculiar  to  Devon.  We  turned  into  a  private  road 
called  "  The  Hobby,"  which,  as  far  as  it  goes,  is 
the  most  beautiful  in  England,  or  indeed  in  the 
world.  It  runs  for  more  than  three  miles  along 
the  edge  of  the  cliffs,  and  through  the  oak  forests 
with  splendid  sea-views,  carpeted  on  either  side 
by  crimson  heather-bells,  crossing  deep  ravines 
wooded  entirely  down  to  the  sea,  and  abounding 
in  sharp  angles  and  sudden  glimpses  of  won- 
drous beauty,  until  the  little  village  of  Clovelly  ia 
i cached,  perched  like  a  bird's-nest  in  the  notch  of 
the  high  sea-wall,  to  which  one  descends  by  a  steep 
path,  which  is  continued  through  the  village  tt 
ihe  shore    by  a    flight    of   irregular,    break-neck 


NORTH  DEVON  AND   WELLS.  427 

slippery  steps.  The  woods  hang  darkly  over  this 
2urious  street,  or  crevice  in  the  rocks,  where  these 
human  "  hanging-birds  "  have  built  their  habita- 
tion.  One  can  hear  at  night  the  song  of  the  night- 
birds  out  of  the  dense  forest  overhead,  and  the 
roll  of  the  sea  far  under  one's  feet. 

I  stopped  at  the  "  Heart  of  Oak  "  Inn,  and  had 
a  dinner  of  fine  fresh  fish  and  "  clouted  cream." 
I  talked  with  the  fishermen  drying  or  mending 
their  nets,  along  down  the  narrow  rough  street  or 
"Jacob's  Ladder  "  to  the  sea.  One  old  "  trawler  " 
said  to  me,  "  It  will  be  wet  weather  soon,  sir  ;  we 
see  the  coast  of  Wales  too  clear."  The  view  from 
the  village  stairs,  of  the  sea,  with  the  long,  angular 
mass  of  "  Lundy  Island  "  blue  in  the  distance,  and 
the  Bristol  Channel  away  even  to  the  coast  of 
Wales,  is  grand  ;  and  the  sight  is  equally  fine  from 
the  sea-beach  below,  looking  up  at  the  huge  wall- 
like precipices  jutting  out  magnificently  into  the 
sea.  I  then  walked  to  "  Clovelly  Court,"  anciently 
owned  by  the  Cary  family,  and  now  in  possession 
of  Sir  J.  H.  Williams.  One  enters  it  by  the 
"  Yellaries  Gate  "  above  the  village,  and  the  way 
is  on  the  clean  springy  turf  under  the  shadow  of 
the  oaks,  through  one  of  those  noble  and  reposeful 
English  parks  from  which  all  that  is  unsightly  has 
been  removed,  and  all  that  Nature  has  to  do  is,  to 
grow  more  and  more  beautiful  year  by  year,  or,  one 
might  say,  century  by  century.  "  Clovelly  Court " 
■tself  is  a  substantial  mansion,  but  nothing  remark- 

7  o 

*ble  architecturally.     In    the  Old  garden  I  asked 


428  OLD  ENGLAND. 

permission  to  pluck  two  red  roses,  vhich  I  did  in 
remembrance  of  Sir  Amyas  and  of  sweet  Rose  Sal- 
terne.  Indeed  it  were  useless  to  attempt  to  de- 
scribe this  place,  and  the  romantic  region  about 
and  above  all  the  cliffs,  that  sweep  up  by  long, 
green  curves  to  the  edge  of  the  coast,  and  then 
break  off  by  a  sheer  perpendicular  descent  of  from 
five  hundred  to  a  thousand  feet  into  the  sea,  and 
stand  to  receive  the  force  of  the  Atlantic  ;  screen- 
ing behind  their  mighty  barriers  the  loveliest, 
warmest,  greenest  vales  and  nooks ;  for  Kingsley, 
in  his  romance,  which  palpitates  with  the  life  and 
poetry  of  the  great  Elizabethan  age,  and  also  in  that 
wonderful  piece  of  word-painting  in  "  Fraser's  " 
on  "  North  Devon,"  has  done  this  once  for  all,  and 
has  made  this  region  his  own  forever,  just  as  truly 
as  Walter  Scott  has  set  his  signet  upon  Loch 
Lomond,  and  the  highlands  of  Scotland.  Others 
come  and  view  these  scenes  as  it  were  through 
them  and  by  their  grace.  Genius  makes  all  things 
it  loves  its  own  forever.  I  was  shown  among  the 
woods,  the  house  where  Charles  Kingsley  lived  as 
a  boy,  and  was  brought  up  to  be  a  rover  in  these 
forests,  exploring  the  sombre  ravines,  —  haunts  of 
the  red  deer,  —  fishing  the  streams,  and  delighting 
in  this  turbulent  ocean  that  rolls  beyond  all.  I 
cannot  conceive  of  a  fitter  spot  to  nourish  a  poet. 
How  different  from  meagre  Haworth,  or  flat, 
marshy,  uninteresting  Olney  !  One  part  of  out 
ride  back  to  Bideford  was  through  a  deep  lane 
where  the  bank  and  hedge  on  either  side  rose  higt 


NORTH  DEVON  AND  WELLS.        426 

above  our  heads,  and  the  trees  fairly  overarched 
the  narrow  road.  We  passed  the  house  of  a  Mr. 
Yeo  of  Appledore,  now  a  successful  retired  mer- 
chant, who  had  once  been  a  poor  apprentice  boy. 
Was  he  of  the  family  of  "  Salvation  Yeo  "  ? 

Ilfracombe  is  the  North  Devon  Newport ;  but  it 
is  more  like  Marblehead  in  Massachusetts,  in  its 
curious  rocks  and  irregular  formation.  The  moun- 
tainous rocks,  black,  twisted,  upheaved,  and  knife- 
edged,  inclose  a  small,  square,  completely  land- 
locked harbor,  where  the  masts  of  tiny  craft  lie 
thick  together,  and  into  which  fumes  the  sturdy 
little  coasting  steamer,  which,  with  the  boats  dart- 
ing around,  make  it  a  lively  scene. 

The  frowning  hills  about  are  sharply  escarped, 
rugged,  and  broken.  Off  the  rocks  the  water  is 
deep  sea-green,  roaring  and  breaking  with  the  full 
force  of  the  open  sea.  There  is  one  handsome 
villa  across  the  harbor  and  a  pretty  modern  stone 
church  ;  the  houses  cluster  around  wherever  they 
can,  dodging  the  rocks.  A  picturesque  old  light- 
house, which  in  ancient  Catholic  days  was  a  shrine 
of  St.  Nicholas,  is  a  resort  of  visitors.  The  "  Cap- 
stan-road," as  it  is  called,  is  a  noble  promenade, 
cut  around  the  face  of  a  high  precipice,  command- 
ing an  expansive  sea-view,  and  a  bold  coast-view 
of  rugged  and  splintered  rocks.  Here  ladies  sit  in 
snug  corners,  wrapped  up  in  shawls,  while  young 
~entlemen,  equally  enveloped  and  comfortable,  read 
(.loud  to  them,  like  a  veritable  picture  of  John 
Leech.  One  could  never  tire  of  these  rocks  and 
this  sea- view. 


130  OLD  ENGLAND. 

The  ride  from  Ilfracombe  to  Lynton  also  abounds 
in  fine  views  of  the  ocean  opening  suddenly  be* 
tween  the  green  hills ;  and  never  more  than  on 
this  North  Devon  coast  does  one  realize  the  beauty 
of  the  old  British  name  of  England — "the  sea- 
defended  green  earth."  The  sea  asserts  here  its 
personality  —  it  makes  itself  felt  as  an  element 
of  Old  England's  character  and  history ;  and 
it  is  everywhere  present  as  a  mighty  and  all- 
encircling  power,  holding  England  in  its  em- 
brace, claiming  it  as  a  child,  and  shaping  by  its 
ever-present  influence  the  destiny  of  the  English 
people. 

The  road  to  Lynton  is  a  lonely  one,  abounding 
in  deep,  short  valleys,  and,  as  one  approaches  the 
town,  has  a  character  of  romantic  wildness  and 
beautv. 

Lynton,  which  is  another  much  frequented  place, 
is  on  the  top  of  a  huge  green  cliff,  or,  it  might  be 
called,  mountain,  while  Lynmouth  lies  immediately 
below  at  the  entrance  of  the  gorge  of  the  Lyn, 
where  it  empties  into  the  sea.  I  walked  down 
about  the  time  of  sunset  into  this  gorge  of  the  Lyn, 
where  the  sound  of  the  little  torrent  mingles  with 
the  sea.  The  scenery  here  has  been  called  by 
Southey  "  alpine."  The  vast  bulk  of  the  Lyn  cliff, 
clad  with  gloomy  firs  at  the  base,  caught  the  bronzed 
light  of  the  setting  sun,  which  came  out  at  last 
with  intense  brightness,  painting  itself  in  the  most 
gorgeous  colors  on  the  stormy  clouds ;  in  front  lay 
.he  wildly  tossing  sea,  softening  somewhat  as  the 


NOKTH  DEVON  AND  WELLS.  131 

iun  went  down,  and  toward  the  northwest  was  the 
opposite  Welsh  coast,  growing  fainter  and  fainter 
in  the  distance  ;  the  strip  of  pebbly  beach  at  the 
mouth  of  the  river  sparkled  under  the  great  red 
rock,  and  immediately  beneath  the  cliff  was  moored 
a  small  vessel  whose  sail  hanging  idly  also  caught 
the  deep  crimson  light ;  fishing-stakes  ran  out  into 
the  water  in  a  wide  semi-circular  sweep,  and  an  old 
square  marine  tower  completed  the  picture. 

This  torrent  of  the  Lyn  is  made  of  the  streams 
of  the  East  and  West  Lyn,  which  a  little  further 
back  make  a  junction,  forming  the  beautiful  rapids 
of"  Watersmeet,"  in  the  estate  belonging  to  Lady 
Hemes.  The  water  pouring  over  innumerable 
rocks,  makes  so  many  separate  jets  of  milk-white 
foam,  which  is  contrasted  with  the  dark  luxuriance 
of  the  overhanging  trees,  and  the  profusion  of  rich 
and  delicate  ferns  ;  every  leaf  is  wet  and  polished ; 
rustic  bridges  here  and  there  help  you  to  ascend 
the  wild  little  stream.  I  followed  up  the  West 
Lyn  for  some  way,  until  the  gorge  widens,  and  I 
came  out  under  the  great  Lyn  cliff,  which  on  the 
west  side  of  the  stream  is  one  dense  mass  of  foliage. 
Here  is  a  fine  clear  fall,  and  gray  rocks  strewed 
about,  making  the  very  temple  of  solitude  and  of 
natural  beauty.  On  returning,  one  gets  a  glimpse 
of  the  sea,  rimmed  in  between  the  sharp  slopes  of 
the  ravine. 

I  wLl  not  speak  of  other  excursions  which  I 
made  tut  of  Lynton,  further  into  the  hills  lying 
on  the  edge  of  the  "  Exmoor  forest "  region,  and 


432  OLD  ENGLAND. 

about  the  desolate  rocks  of  this  romantic  coast ;  but 
no  one  knows  what  English  coast-scenery  is  until 
he  has  seen  the  North  Devon  shore.  It  is  far  bolder 
and  grander  than  the  opposite  southern  Devonshire 
coast,  which  is  the  usual  resort  of  English  tourists. 
The  colors  are  richer,  the  cliffs  higher  and  more 
grandly  precipitous,  the  sea  of  a  deeper  ocean 
green,  and  all  the  forms  of  Nature  are  on  a  much 
larger  scale.  The  hills  pile  up  here  in  enormous 
parapets  as  they  break  off  suddenly  seaward,  mak- 
ing a  long  wall  of  stupendous  precipices.  And  yet 
the  inland  sides  of  these  cliffs,  as  has  been  said,  are 
beautifully  rounded  with  steep  slopes  and  vales  of 
the  richest  green.  The  village  of  Lynton  hangs 
suspended  on  one  of  these  round  steep  hill-sides, 
and  the  view  from  the  grounds  of  Castle  Hotel  is 
charming  over  the  long  sweeps  of  steeply  sloping 
meadows  dotted  with  neat  white  farm-houses. 

What  is  called  the  "North  Walk"  about  the 
"  Lyn-cliff  "  has  been  laid  out  with  the  boldest  skill 
and  taste.  The  walk  which  winds  around  the  face  of 
the  crag  is  so  perpendicular  in  places  that  if  one 
should  fall  over  he  would  sink  I  know  not  how  many 
fathoms  deep  in  the  green  ocean  depths.  The  sea- 
gulls wheel  fiercely  about  you  as  if  you  were  an 
intruder  in  their  solitary  dominions,  and  there  is 
aothing  beyond  or  in  sight  but  the  lonely  sea. 

There  are  some  steep  pitches  in  the  road  shortly 
after  leaving  Lynton  up  which  one  wonders  how 
9ven  spirited  English  coach-horses  could  ever  drag 
a  mail-coach.     One  passes  over  the  huge  slopes  of 


NORTH   DEVON  AND   WELLS.  433 

the  Exmoorhill  region,  abounding  in  sombre  wooded 
ravines,  with  those  wonderful  glimpses  of  the  sea 
every  now  and  then  at  their  narrow  openings.  The 
scenery  about  the  valley  of  Porlock,  in  the  neigh- 
borhood of  the  wild  heathery  forest  region  of 
"  Dunkery  Beacon  "  mountain,  is  peculiarly  strik- 
ing. Dunster  Castle  is  a  picturesque  village,  with 
an  ancient  many-gabled  market-house,  and  the 
castle  embosomed  in  foliage.  As  we  journeyed  in 
Somersetshire  the  region  grew  broader  and  less 
pictui-esque,  but  was  still  very  beautiful,  with  its 
green  meadows  and  farm-lands.  It  is  a  rich  agri- 
cultural region.  This  is  the  headquarters  of  the 
English  gypsies  ;  we  encountered  a  gypsy  wagon 
and  small  encampment.  We  also  met  a  large  pack 
of  hounds  belonging  to  some  gentleman  of  the  neigh- 
borhood, on  their  way  to  or  from  the  field.  There 
were  several  "  Podgers  "  and  "  Todgers  "  upon  the 
coach  in  checked  clothes  and  jockey  hats,  each  with 
a  little  glass  in  the  corner  of  his  eye,  and  all  very 
similar,  the  one  to  the  other,  who  talked  know- 
ingly of  hounds  and  hunting  ;  but  from  something 
in  the  outer  man,  or  the  skeptical  flings  of  Kingsley 
and  the  comical  suggestions  of  Leech,  one  could 
not  help  having  his  suspicions  about  the  profundity 
Df  their  experience  as  bold  followers  of  "  St.  Hu- 
bert," on  the  combes  and  wilds  of  Exmoor. 

At  Bridgewater  we  struck  the  Exeter  and  Bris- 
tol Railwav.  At  this  town  of  Bridgewater,  the 
unfortunate  Duke  of  Monmouth  was  proclaimed 
ling,  and  met  his  defeat  at  Sedgmoor,  three  miles 

•28 


434  OLD  ENGLAND. 

distant.     A  little  higher  up  I  took  the  branch  road 
off  to  Glastonbury  and  Wells. 

The  city  of  Wells,  which  we  now  visit,  has  a  ro- 
mantic situation  on  the  southern  slope  of  Mendip 
Hills,  twenty  miles  equi-distant  from  Bath,  Bristol, 
and  Bridgewater.  It  takes  its  name  from  the  an- 
cient well  dedicated  to  St.  Andrew,  which  rises 
within  the  Episcopal  grounds,  and  runs  through 
the  city  down  the  sides  of  the  principal  streets  in 
clear  sparkling  streams. 

There  is  no  place  which,  taken  altogether,  pre- 
serves a  more  antique  air  of  tranquil  seclusion  than 
Wells.  In  the  precincts  of  Chester  Cathedral,  and 
at  many  other  points  in  England,  there  broods  the 
same  antique  calm,  but  here  the  whole  place  is  per- 
vaded by  this  reposeful  spirit  of  the  past ;  and  this 
culminates  in  the  neighborhood  of  St.  Andrews' 
Cathedral,  the  Bishop's  palace,  the  old  moat,  the 
conventual  buildings,  and  the  three  venerable  gates, 
or  "  eyes,"  as  they  are  called,  of  the  Cathedral 
yard.  The  moat  about  the  Bishop's  palace,  over- 
hung by  a  thick  curtain  of  aged  elms  mingled  with 
ivy,  growing  like  a  warrior's  crest  upon  the  high 
turreted  interior  walls,  and  reflected  in  deep  shadows 
in  the  smooth  dark  mirror  of  the  water,  has  a  thor- 
oughly feudal  look,  which  is  heightened  by  the 
drawbridge  over  the  moat,  and  the  frowning  castel- 
lated gateway.  How  strange  the  state  of  society 
when  a  Christian  bishop  lived  in  such  jealously 
armed  seclusion,  behind  moated  walls  and  embat- 
tled towers  !     What  a  commentary,  this  very  name 


NORTH  DEVON  AND  WELLS.        435 

of  "  the  close  !  "  One  of  these  old  bishops  was 
himself  a  famous  fighting  character,  who,  at  the 
age  of  sixty-four,  commanded  the  king's  artillery 
at  the  battle  of  Sedgmoor.  Among  the  bishops  of 
Bath  and  Wells  were  Thomas  Wolsev,  William 
Laud,  Thomas  Ken,  and  George  Hooper.  Bishop 
Beckington  seems  to  have  been  the  great  architect- 
ural benefactor  of  the  city  itself.  He  built  the  two 
great  gateways,  the  Bishop's  palace,  the  "  Pennyless 
Porch,"  which  still  bears  his  arms  of  the  beacon  and 
tun,  and  the  market  hall,  in  which  the  infamous 
Jeffries  sat,  and  pronounced  sentence  upon  the 
wretched  followers  of  the  defeated  Duke  of  Mon- 
mouth. Within  the  quiet  area  of  the  "  Bishop's 
close"  are  the  ruined  and  lordly  remains  of  the 
"  Old  Hall."  One  tall,  slender,  turreted  fragment 
stands  entirely  by  itself,  and  is  wound  tightly  around 
by  the  clasping  arms  of  the  ivy  that  strive  to  hide 
its  loneliness  and  decay.  In  the  garden  are  shrubs 
and  trees  of"  curling  acacia,"  "  Glastonbury  thorn," 
cypress,  and  Turkish  oak  ;  while  great  clumps  of 
lilies  perfumed  the  air.  The  view  from  the  walls 
of  the  broad  meadows  in  front  of  the  "  close " 
on  which  cattle  were  feeding,  and  laborers  making 
hay,  and  the  green  wavy  Mendip  Hills  with  the 
Glastonbury  Tor  and  the  Dalcot  Hill  in  the  distance, 
was  more  than  prettily  English  and  rural,  —  it  was 
beautiful,  in  the  rich  light  of  that  glowing  autumn 
afternoon.  And  there,  too,  near  by,  were  the  three 
great  square  towers  and  the  ornamented  bulk  of  the 
Cathedral. 


43G  OLD    ENGLAND. 

The  Cathedral  of  St.  Andrew  was  built  upon  the 
site  of  a  still  more  ancient  church  founded  by  Ina, 
king  of  the  West  Saxons  in  704.  It  also  goes 
back  to  a  remote  antiquity,  for  its  choir  and  nave 
were  rebuilt  in  the  middle  of  the  twelfth  century. 
The  central  tower,  which  is  the  noblest  and  most 
finished  part  of  the  structure,  is  of  the  early  Eng- 
lish style  to  the  roof ;  the  upper  part  is  of  the  Dec- 
orated, with  a  mixture  of  the  early  Perpendicular 
styles.  It  has  an  elegant  appearance  from  its  rich 
pinnacles,  and  is  of  a  softened  and  gray  tint.  Be- 
ginning to  show  signs  of  sinking,  it  was  raised  in 
the  fourteenth  century,  and  was  strengthened  by 
the  introduction  beneath  it  of  inverted  buttressing 
arches,  which  give  to  the  interior  a  strange  effect. 
These  arches,  architecturally  considered,  are  un- 
doubtedly blemishes,  but  they  are  on  such  a  vast 
scale,  and  so  bold  in  their  forms,  and  yet  so  simple, 
that  they  do  not  take  away  from  the  plain  gran- 
deur of  the  interior.  They  are  quite  Oriental  or 
Saracenic.  The  top  of  the  eastern  window  is  seen 
bright  and  glowing  over  the  lower  part  of  the  upper 
arch.  The  west  front,  two  hundred  and  thirty- 
five  feet  in  length,  has  two  square  towers,  with  a 
central  screen  terminated  by  minarets,  and  is  di- 
vided into  distinct  compartments  of  eight  project- 
ing buttresses ;  all  of  these  projections  and  recessed 
parts  are  covered  with  rich  sculpture  and  statu- 
ary, of  which  there  are  one  hundred  and  fifty-three 
figures  of  life-size,  and  more  than  four  hundred 
and  fifty  smaller  figures.     On  the  nine  ascending 


NORTH  DEVON  AND  WELLS.  437 

tiers  of  sculpture  pieces,  one  may  trace,  it  is  said, 
the  successive  order  of  subjects  in  the  "  Te  Deum  " 
of  St.  Ambrose  :  "  The  glorious  company  of  the 
apostles  praise  Thee.  The  goodly  army  of  the 
prophets  praise  Thee.  The  noble  army  of  mar- 
tyrs praise  Thee,"  &c.  The  last  tiers  end  with 
the  representation  of  the  Resurrection  and  Final 
Judgment.  These  statues,  contemporaneous  with 
the  time  of  Nicholas  Pisano,  and  the  early  Pre- 
Raphaelite  artists,  have  the  same  purity  and  eleva- 
tion of  expression,  and  the  same  simple  unadorned 
majesty,  that  belong  to  that  period  of  sacred  art. 
It  was  an  earnest,  childish,  but  sublime  way  of 
praising  God,  by  attempting  thus,  step  by  step, 
with  laborious  and  unwearied  effort,  to  carve  in  en- 
during stone  the  ascending  plan  of  human  redemp- 
tion.  Let  us  not  deride  this  simple  expression  of 
ancient  faith  which  served  doubtless  for  ages  to  help 
ignorant  minds  to  spell  out  Divine  truth  on  this 
great  rough  stone  primer,  while  the  living  Word  of 
God  was  kept  from  the  people  through  misplaced 
awe,  or  worse,  spiritual  despotism.  The  doors  of 
this  magnificent  west  front  are  universally  consid- 
ered to  be  too  small,  and  this  is  the  chief  fault 
of  the  building.  The  other  most  striking  features 
of  Wells  Cathedral  are  the  Chapter  House  and 
the  Ladye  Chapel.  The  first  of  these,  on  the  rear 
of  the  church,  is  an  octagonal  structure  with  pin 
nacled  buttresses  at  each  angle.  It  is  approachea 
from  the  interior  by  a  worn  staircase  of  twenty 
'teps  of   noble  architectural   design.     Among  the 


438  OLD  ENGLAND. 

grotesque  carvings  that  line  the  staircase,  I  remem- 
ber in  particular  one  queer  old  figure  with  a  staff, 
or  rather  crutch,  thrust  in  a  dragon's  mouth,  sup- 
porting a  column.     While  thus  holding  up  the  Ca- 
thedral with  his  head  and  hand  above,  and  choking 
a  writhing  dragon  beneath,  he   looks   smiling  and 
unconcerned  as  if  it  were  an  every-day  affair  with 
him,  as  indeed  it  is.     The  whole  church  abounds  in 
these  old  sculptures,  little  demoniac  figures  with  big 
heads,  faces  with   enormous  fish  mouths,  old  men 
with  packs  on  their  backs,  and  angels  with   huge 
armfuls  of  flowers.     They  seem  to  let  one  into  the 
interior  chambers  of  fancy,  the  imaginative  work- 
ings of  the  human  mind  in  the  dark  a^es.    All  these 
forms  and  faces,  even  to  the  stern  "  gargoyles  "  on 
the  roof,  have  a  simple  earnestness,  as  if  they  were 
not  meant  to  be  frivolous  or  irreverent,  but  were  the 
glimpses  of  natural  fancies,  protesting  doubts,  vain 
fears  and  poetic  hopes,  thrusting  themselves  through 
the  awful  rigid  system  of  religious  terrorism  under 
which  the  mind  was  crushed.     I  have  no  doubt  the 
carvers  and  masons  worked  on  each  according  to 
his  own  mind,  without  much  definite  guidance  or 
pattern-drawing  from  the  superior  architect,  except 
in  the  general  plan.     Here  one  man  has  left  the 
record  of  his  remorse,  and  another  of  his  aspiration, 
and  another  of  his  homely  English  wit  and  shrewd 
common-sense    morality.      The   Chapter  House   is 
unexcelled  for  splendor,  lightness,  and  simple  maj- 
esty.     From  the  central  clustered  column  spring 
.he  series  of  intricate  but  harmonious  traceried  line* 


NORTH  DEVON  AND  WELLS.        439 

of  the  ceiling,  each  meeting  in  the  ball-flower  orna- 
ment overhead. 

From  its  eight  painted  windows,  this  room  is 
flooded  with  richly  colored  lights.  The  Ladye 
Chapel  affords  a  fine  perspective  of  pillars  near  its 
entrance,  though  it  is  not  so  remarkable  as  the 
Chapter  House  for  beauty  and  boldness.  The  ceil- 
ing is  newly  gilded,  and  the  choir,  too,  has  a  fresh 
new  look  with  its  modern  tiles  and  brasses. 

Wells  Cathedra],  on  the  whole,  is  distinguished 
for  a  dignified  but  rich  simplicity,  arising  from  its 
plain  large  surfaces,  mingled  and  edged  here  and 
there    with    fine-cut    and    elegant     ornamentation. 

© 

The  court  and  buildings  0f  the  Wells  Theological 

©  © 

College  have  a  thoroughly  quaint,  old-fashioned 
look,  quiet,  rigid,  and  mediaeval ;  as  if  the  students 
reared  there  could  not  but  be  Churchmen  of  the 
"  brother  Ignatius  "  stamp,  gentlemen,  scholars,  and 
—  priests.  I  cannot  leave  Wells  without  speaking 
of  the  two  splendid  "  cedars  of  Lebanon  "  stand- 
ing in  the  environs  of  the  church.  They  are  not 
very  tall,  but  they  sweep  the  ground  majestically, 
and  grow  in  a  series  of  broad  heavy  masses  of  foli- 
age, gracefully  undulating  in  their  outline.  Would 
that  I  might  carry  away  from  this  ancient  city  and 
from  its  noble  temple  of  Praise,  something  of  the 
high  and  angelical  spirit  which  is  breathed  in  the 
good  Bishop  Ken's  familiar  "morning  hymn  :  "  — 

"  Awake,  lift  up  thyself,  my  heart, 
And  with  the  angels  bear  thy  part, 
Who  all  night  long  unwearied  sing 
High  praises  to  th'  eternal  King. 


440  OLD  ENGLAND. 

u  Lord,  I  my  vows  to  Thee  renew: 
Scatter  my  sins  as  morning  dew ; 
Guard  my  first  springs  of  thought  and  wit 
And  with  Thyself  my  spirit  fill. 

*  Direct,  control,  suggest  this  day, 
All  I  design,  or  do,  or  say ; 
That  all  my  powers,  with  all  their  migkt 
In  Thy  sole  glory  may  unite." 


CHAPTER   XXIV. 

GLASTONBURY   AND   THE    WYE. 

We  come  now  to  the  legendary  portion  of  Old 
England,  where  it  is  enveloped  in  the  dim  mista 
of  mingled  ecclesiastical  and  heroic  fables.  The 
region  about  Glastonbury  is  the  seat  of  the  earliest 
traditions  of  the  English  Church,  going  back  almost 
to  apostolic  days ;  and  with  these,  the  armed  heroic 
forms  of  Kino;  Arthur  and  his  "  Knights  of  the 
Round  Table,"  are  strangely  blended,  with  half 
childish  and  half  poetic  glory  upon  the  picture. 

Glastonbury  meant  originally,  it  is  said,  "  Isle 
of  the  Glassy  Water ;  '  and  it  was  also  called 
"Avalon,"  or  "  Avilion,"  thus  alluded  to  by  Ten- 
nyson in  the  "  Morte  d' Arthur  :  "  — 

"  To  the  island-valley  of  the  Avilion ; 
Where  falls  not  hail,  or  rain,  or  any  snow, 
Nor  ever  wind  blows  loudly;  but  it  lies 
Deep-meadowed,  happy,  fair  with  orchard-lawns, 
And  bowerj-  hollows,  crowned  with  sumraer  sea." 

To  this  peaceful  Eden  of  rest  King  Arthur  wa» 
gently  borne  over  the  lake,  after  his  grievous 
wound  in  fighting  with  the  traitor  ;  and,  lost  for 
ages  to  the  sight  of  men,  he  is  here  at  length  to 
-eappear  among  men,  for  the  glory  of  his  native 
ana. 


442  OLD  ENGLAND. 

Here,  in  all  probability,  was  really  the  scene  of 
the  earliest  home  of  Christianity  in  England,  al- 
though myth  and  fable  make  it  difficult  to  come  at 
.'he  truth  of  history. 

The  story  is,  that  while  Glastonbury  was  still  an 
island,  hidden  amid  the  marshes  and  thickets  of  a 
vast  morass,  a  company  of  pilgrims  from  the  Holy 
Land,  led  by  "  Joseph  of  Arimathea,"  landed  on 
the  western  shore  of  England,  somewhere  in  North 
Wales ;  and  journeying  on  south,  through  the  wild 
and  rugged  land,  they  at  length  stopped  here,  and 
established  themselves  as  a  religious  community. 
Mrs.  Jameson  thus  relates  the  legend :  "  Some 
hold  that  when  Philip,  one  of  the  twelve  Apostles, 
came  to  France,  he  sent  Joseph  of  Arimathea  with 
Joseph  his  son,  and  eleven  more  of  his  disciples 
hither,  who  with  great  zeal  and  undaunted  courage 
preached  the  true  and  lively  faith  of  Christ,  and 
when  King  Arviragus  considered  the  difficulties 
that  attended  their  long  and  dangerous  journey 
from  the  Holy  Land,  beheld  their  civil  and  inno- 
cent lives,  and  observed  their  sanctity  and  the 
severities  of  their  religion,  he  gave  them  a  certain 
jsland  in  the  west  part  of  his  dominions  for  their 
habitation,  called  Avalon,  containing  twelve  hides 
of  land,  where  they  built  a  church  of  wreathen 
wands,  and  set  a  place  apart  for  the  burial  of  their 
servants.  These  holy  men  were  devoted  to  a 
religious  solitude,  confined  themselves  to  the  num- 
ber of  twelve,  lived  there  after  the  manner  of 
Christ  and  his   Apostles,   and   by  preaching   con- 


GLASTONBURY   AND   THE  WYE.  443 

Verted  a  great  number  of  the  Britons  who  became 
Christians." 

Joseph  planted  his  staff  as  a  sign  that  they  had 
reached  a  place  of  fixed  abode  after  their  weary 
wanderings  ;  the  staff  immediately  took  root,  and 
like  Aaron's  rod  budded  and  flowered.  The  vis- 
itor is  still  shown  stocks  descended  from  the  "  Holv 
Thorn  "  of  Joseph  of  Arimathea,  which  is  said  to 
differ  from  the  common  hawthorn  but  in  one  re- 
spect, that  it  blossoms  amid  the  snows  of  winter 
at  Christmas  ! 

Succeeding  the  humble  wattled  dwellings  of  the 
earliest  missionaries,  and  the  ruder  Saxon  struct- 
ures, at  length  a  great  abbey  arose,  one  of  the 
most  complete,  wealthy,  and  famous  in  all  Eng- 
land, as  its  present  ruins  amply  testify.  It  was  in 
its  prime  a  religious  establishment  of  magnificent 
power  and  riches.  It  acknowledged  no  jurisdiction 
to  Rome,  but  looked  solely  to  its  own  metropolitan 
bishop  of  Caerdon-on-Uske,  claiming  that  its  au- 
thority was  derived  direct  from  the  Holy  Land 
and  the  Apostles.  The  remains  of  its  edifices,  for 
solidity  and  majesty,  are  assuredly  unsurpassed  by 
any  of  the  ruined  abbeys  of  England.  Tintern 
Abbey  is  more  beautiful,  and  Fountains  Abbey 
has  possibly  more  of  its  walls  still  standing,  but 
Glastonbury  Abbey  is  superior  to  all  in  massive 
grandeur.  Some  of  its  walls  are  very  high  and 
iolid  still.  The  original  church,  whose  outlines 
ire  distinctly  marked,  measured  from  the  end  of 
St.  Joseph's  Chapel  on  the  west,  to  the  Retro  of 


444  .    OLD  ENGLAND. 

Ladye  Chapel  on  the  east,  is  five  hundred  and 
ninety-four  feet  in  length.  Two  of  the  piers  which 
supported  the  central  tower  of  the  nave  are  stand- 
ing, with  parts  of  the  great  arch,  towering  ragged 
and  weed-fringed  against  the  sky.  There  is  some 
beautiful  carving  of  oak  leaves  about  one  of  the 
side-doors  of  the  choir.  The  walls  of  "  St.  Joseph's 
Chapel  "  are  almost  entire,  —  strong  Norman  work 
of  the  time  of  Henry  II.  at  the  end  of  the  twelfth 
century.  Two  of  the  small  square  towers  that 
stood  at  the  angles  are  still  almost  perfect.  With 
their  vertical  lines  and  pyramidal  pinnacles,  they 
have  an  elegant  look.  The  exterior  walls  of  the 
chapel,  with  their  simple  round  mullioned  windows, 
projecting  piers,  and  vertical  side  lines,  ending  in 
bow-kneed  intersecting  arches,  together  with  the 
deeply  recessed  and  rich  portal  adorned  with  the 
chevron  moulding,  have  that  austere  majesty  which 
despises  feeble  external  ornament,  and  which  is  so 
characteristic  of  the  masculine  Norman  style. 

Many  kings  were  buried  here,  —  the  grandfathei 
of  Constantine  the  Great,  Edmund  the  First,  Ed- 
gar and  Edmund  Ironsides  ;  and  here,  if  ancient 
chronicles  are  true,  King  Arthur  himself  was 
buried.  Camden  says  that  Arthur's'  tomb  was  dis- 
covered with  a  leaden  tablet  above  it  in  the  shape 
of  a  cross,  with  this  inscription  :  —  "  Hie  jacet  se- 
pultus  Rex  Arthurus  in  insula  Avalonise."  An- 
other English  chronicler  (Fabyan's  Chronicle,  p. 
81,)  gives  this  account  of  his  death  and  burial :  — 
u  Whenne  relacion  came  to  Arthur  of  all  this  trear 


GLASTONBURY  AND   THE   WYE.  445 

ion  wrought  by  his  neuewe  Mordred,  he  in  all 
haste  made  towarde  Brytaine,  as  it  is  redde  in  the 
Englysshe  Cronycle,  and  landed  at  Sandwyche, 
where  he  was  mette  of  Mordred  and  his  people, 
which  gaue  vnto  hym  stronge  batyll  in  tyme  of  his 
landyng,  and  loste  there  many  of  his  knyghtes,  as 
the  famous  knyght  Garvain  and  others  ;  but  yet 
this  notwithstandynge  Arthure  at  length  wonne 
the  lande,  and  chaysed  his  enemyes,  and  after  the 
enteryng  of  his  cosyn  Gawyn  and  other  of  his 
knyghtes  there  slayne,  he  sette  forwarde  his  hoost 
to  pursue  his  enemyes.  Mordred  thus  beying 
ouerst  of  his  vncle  at  the  see  side,  withdrew  hym 
to  Wynchester,  where  he  beying  furnysslied  of 
newe  sowdyours,  gaue  vnto  Arthure,  as  saith  Gau- 
fride,  the  second  fyght ;  wherein  also  Mordred 
was  put  to  the  worse  and  constrayned  to  flee. 
Thirdly  and  lastly,  the  sayd  Mordred  faught  with 
his  vncle  Arthure  beside  Glastvnberry,  where  after 
a  longe  and  daugerous  fyght  Mordred  was  slayne, 
and  the  victorious  Arthure  wounded  vnto  the 
deth,  and  after  buryed  in  the  vale  of  Aualon,  be- 
side Glastynberry  beforesaid." 

This  same  chronicler  thus  speaks  of  his  exploits : 
"  Arthure  faught  xii.  notable  bataylles  agayn  the 
Saxons,  and  of  theym  all  was  /ictoure.  This  noble 
warayour,  as  wytnesseth  holy  Gilda,  slewe  with  his 
owne  hande  in  one  daye,  by  the  helpe  of  oure  Lady 
6eynt  Mary,  whose  Picture  he  bare  peynted  on 
*iis  shelde,  c.  and.  xi.  Saxons ;  whiche  shelde  he 
tailed  Pridwcn,  his  sworde  was  called  Caliboure, 


446  OLD  ENGLAND. 

and  his  spere  was  called  Rone  after  the  Brettjsshe 
tunge  or  speche." 

Still  another  old  writer,  Geraldus  Cambrensis, 
speaks  with  great  particularity  of  the  opening  of 
Arthur's  tomb  in  the  reign  of  Henry  II.  ;  the  cof- 
fin itself  was  made  of  the  hollowed  trunk  of  a  tree  ; 
the  bones  were  of  great  size  ;  and  the  skull  bore 
marks  of  the  fatal  wound.  In  1189,  the  tradition 
is,  that  the  tomb  of  Queen  Guinever  was  also 
opened,  and  that  her  yellow  hair,  nicely  braided, 
was  found  unchanged.  True  or  false,  these  tradi- 
tions are  exceedingly  interesting,  and  seem  to  give 
some  ground  of  substance  to  the  shadowy  legend- 
ary age  of  England's  British  kings.  Nowhere  are 
the  myths  more  beautiful,  nowhere  more  simply 
heroic,  nowhere  more  sweetly  tinged  with  the  ro- 
seate light  of  a  dawning  Christianity,  before  which 
the  gloom  of  Druidic  Paganism  was  beginning  to 
flee  away,  than  those  which  cluster  about  Glaston- 
bury, and  this  ancient  vale  of  Avalon.  In  these 
walls,  King  Arthur  with  his  "  pendragon-crest," 
often  entered,  weary  and  worn  from  "  roving  the 
trackless  realms  of  Lyonesse."  Here  he  was  met 
ind  entertained  with  solemn  ceremonies,  grave 
courtesy,  and  learned  discourse  of  holy  men,  telling 
him  of  more  glorious  wars,  and  of  the  way  to  win 
a  hirrher  crown.  So,  at  least,  we  will  think.  Yes 
to  us,  Arthur  is  "  flos  regum  gloria  regni."  Othei 
great  kings  and  heroes  there  have  been,  but  he  i1 
was  who  founded  the  mighty  Table :  — 


GLASTONBURY  AND  THE   WYE.  447 

*But  I  was  first  of  all  the  kings  who  drew 
The  knighthood- errant  of  this  realm  and  all 
The  realms  together  under  me,  their  Head, 
In  that  fair  order  of  my  Table  Round, 
A  glorious  company,  the  flower  of  men, 
To  serve  as  model  for  the  mighty  world 
And  be  the  fair  beginning  of  a  time. 
I  made  them  lay  their  hands  in  mine  and  swear 
To  reverence  the  King,  as  if  he  were 
Their  conscience,  and  their  conscience  as  their  King, 
To  break  the  heathen  and  uphold  the  Christ, 
To  ride  abroad  redressing  human  wrongs, 
To  speak  no  slander,  no,  nor  listen  to  it, 
To  lead  sweet  lives  in  purest  chastity, 
To  love  one  maiden  only,  cleave  to  her, 
And  worship  her  by  years  of  noble  deeds, 
Until  they  won  her ;  for  indeed  I  knew 
Of  no  more  subtle  master  under  Heaven 
Than  is  the  maiden  passion  for  a  maid 
Not  only  to  keep  down  the  base  in  man, 
But  teach  high  thought  and  amiable  words, 
And  courtlinesse  and  the  desire  of  fame, 
And  love  of  truth,  and  all  that  makes  a  man." 

A  figure  far  more  distinct  and  no  less  powerful, 
though  of  an  earthlier  and  more  passionate  mould, 
is  the  formidable  shape  of  St.  Dunstan,  who  lived 
in  the  reign  of  King  Athelstane,  grandson  of  Al- 
fred, in  the  tenth  centur}'.  He  was  a  monk  of 
Glastonbury  Abbey.  In  his  lonely  cell,  his  harp, 
touched  by  invisible  fingers  for  his  solace,  breathed 
the  hymn,  "  Gaudete  animi."  He  also  (so  goes 
the  ancient  chronicle)  once  heard  the  angels  sing, 

"  Peace  to  the  lande  of  Englysshemen." 

He  had  moreover  at  Glastonbury  his  famous  tussle 
with  the  arch-fiend,  and  by  a  sharp  cauterizing  pro- 
cess quickly  routed  him.     He  rebuked  kings  boldly 


44?  OLD  ENGLAND. 

for  their  vices,  and  brandished  before  the  unsubmis- 
sive the  lightnings  0f  t]ie  Church.  He  was  ora- 
tor,  poet,  artist,  painter,  skillful  artificer  in  metals, 
making  great  improvements  and  additions  to  the 
organ.  He  became  Primate  of  the  English  nation, 
and  died  in  Canterbury,  a.  d.  988. 

Glastonbury  Abbey  was  a  Benedictine  brother- 
hood. The  Benedictines,  the  best  of  all  the  mo- 
nastic orders,  established  themselves  in  England 
about  fifty  years  after  the  death  of  their  founder  in 
543.  Oddly  enough,  nothing  now  survives  to  tes- 
tify to  their  higher  virtues  or  more  important 
achievements,  but  the  Abbot's  Kitchen,  a  singu- 
lar structure  with  high  octagonal,  pyramidal  roof, 
crowned  with  a  double  lanthorn,  and  the  Abbot's 
Stable,  with  some  interesting  carvings  still  clinging 
to  it ;  these  are  the  only  buildings  that  now  remain 
entire.  In  the  kitchen  are  four  huge  fire-places  at 
the  four  angles.  Pigs  and  cattle  roam  unmolested 
about  it,  and  sometimes  go  grunting  into  it,  troubled 
with  no  sense  of  alarm,  or  with  ghosts  of  ancestral 
martyrdoms. 

I  went  to  the  summit  of  Tor  Hill,  a  remarkable 
eminence  of  steep  rounded  green,  surmounted  by 
the  tower  of  ruined  St.  Michael's  Church.  Upon 
this  hill  the  last  abbot  of  Glastonbury,  Abbot  Whit- 
ing, was  hung  for  resisting  the  authority  of  Henry 
VIII. ;  and  the  proud  Abbey  of  Glastonbury,  with 
other  great  l'eligious  houses,  fell  with  him.  At  the 
*bot  of  this  hill  is  a   mineral    spring,  now  almos 


GLASTONBUKY  AND  THE  WYE.  449 

choked  up  ana  deserted,  which  was  celebrated  for 
its  healing  qualities  from  the  earliest  antiquity.  To 
this  venerable  spring,  according  to  Hollingshed, 
King  Arthur  was  brought  to  be  healed  of  his 
wounds  ;  and  during  the  greatness  of  the  monas- 
tery  for  ages,  the  sick  from  all  parts  of  the  king- 
dom resorted  hither  for  cure. 

In  this  region  of  Somersetshire,  wandering  amid 
its  woods  and  caves,  a  veritable  royal  hero,  who 
belongs  to  authentic  history,  the  English  Alfred, 
spent  the  days  of  his  darkness  and  exile  when 
he  was  driven  from  his  throne  by  the  Danes. 
Legends  also  cluster  about  him.  One  day  in  the 
depths  of  a  forest,  while  his  scanty  followers  were 
absent  in  search  of  food,  as  he  was  engaged  in 
reading  a  book,  a  pilgrim  met  him,  and  asked  alms 
of  him  in  God's  name.  The  king  lifted  up  his 
hands  toward  heaven  and  said,  "  I  thank  God,  who 
of  His  grace  assisteth  this  poor  man  this  day  by  an- 
other poor  man."  He  then  called  his  only  remain- 
ing servant,  who  had  but  one  loaf  and  a  little  sip 
of  wine,  and  bade  him  give  half  to  the  poor  man. 
This  poor  man  partook  of  the  refreshment  and  sud- 
denly vanished.  The  night  following,  the  same 
man  appeared  to  him  in  a  vision  clad  in  full  bish- 
op's robes,  and  said  :  "I  am  Cuthbert,  the  pilgrim 
to  whom  yesterday  you  ga'-e  both  bread  and  wine. 
I  am  busy  for  thee.  Remember  this  of  me  when 
it  shall  be  well  with  thee.  To-morrow  strong  help- 
ers shall  come  to  thee  ;  by  whose  help  thou  shalt 
ibdue  thine  enemies."     This  was  the  same  Saint 

29 


450  OLD  ENGLAND 

Cuthbert,  to  whom  Alfred  afterward  gave  posses* 
sions  in  land  and  money,  for  the  founding  of  Dur* 
ham  Church,  which  was  dedicated  to  this  saint. 
Shortly  after  this  event  men  nocked  to  Alfred  from 
the  regions  round  about.  He  himself  entered  the 
Danish  camp  in  the  garb  of  a  minstrel,  discovered 
the  weak  points  of  his  enemy,  and  with  his  little 
host  of  Somersetshire,  Wiltshire,  and  Dorsetshire 
men,  routed  the  Danes  in  battle,  and  began  his 
victorious  course  to  the  recovery  of  his  kingdom.1 
Alfred's  division  of  time  is  worthy  of  our  contem- 
plation at  this  day.  He  divided  the  day  and  night 
into  three  parts,  if  not  interrupted  by  war  or  busi- 
ness. Eight  hours  he  spent  in  study ;  the  second 
eight  he  spent  in  prayer  and  deeds  of  charity  ;  and 
the  remaining  eight  he  spent  in  sleep,  nourish- 
ment of  his  body,  and  the  affairs  of  his  realm. 
This  order  he  kept  by  waxen  tapers  tended  by 
persons  appointed  for  this  purpose. 

Returning  to  Brido-ewater,  I  Avent  from  thence 
01  to  Bristol  to  spend  the  Sabbath.  I  attended 
diArine  senrice  the  next  day,  as  I  had  done  many 
months  before,  at  the  "  Brethren  Chapel "  of 
Messrs.  Miiller  and  Craik,  in  a  neat  but  unpre- 
tending stone  edifice,  very  plain  within,  with  broad 
galleries  occupied   mostly   by   the  children    of  the 

1  The  familiar  story  of  the  spoiled  cakes  belongs  also  to  this  place 
tad  period.  The  old  Latin  verse  in  which  it  is  embalmed  has  bes» 
translated  intr  genuine  Somersetshire  dialect:  — 

"  Cam  thee  mind  the  keaks,  man,  an  (loosen  zee  'em  burn 
I  'm  boun  thee  's  eat  'em  vast  enough  az  soon  az  tiz  the  turn." 


GLASTONBURY  AND  THE  WYE.  451 

*  House  of  Faith,"  dressed  simply,  but  not  in  a 
manner  to  make  them  look  so  distressingly  plain, 
as  does  the  homely  uniform  of  some  English  be- 
nevolent institutions.  Mr.  Craik  the  preacher,  the 
"  alter  ego  "  of  Miiller,  a  man  with  a  fine  intellect- 
ual face,  spoke  extemporaneously  to  a  devout  con- 
gregation, all  following  his  Scriptural  allusions  in 
their  Bibles,  and  all  singing  fervently  together. 
Mr.  Craik's  sermon  was  upon  "  Joseph,  as  the 
type  of  Christ."  No  type,  he  said,  was  an  exact 
counterpart  of  what  it  typified,  but  presented  con- 
trasts as  well  as  correspondences.  He  dwelt  upon 
one  of  these  contrasts  in  particular,  that  Jacob 
did  not  know  what  would  befall  his  son  when  he 
sent  him  forth  on  his  errand ;  nor  did  Joseph 
himself  know  what  was  in  the  future  when  he 
went  to  seek  his  brethren  in  the  wilderness  with 
a  message  of  peace  ;  but  our  Almighty  Father 
knew  perfectly,  and  still  ordained  in  love,  what 
would  befall  his  Son,  when  he  went  forth  from  his 
bosom  to  suffer  for  the  redemption  and  peace  of 
men.  In  the  course  of  his  remarks  he  had  occa- 
sion to  speak  of  each  event  of  life,  the  most  minute, 
being  under  the  guidance  of  God.  Here  his  faith 
broke  out  in  an  earnest  and  elevated  strain.  He 
represented  all  things  as  bound  together  in  one 
framework  of  harmony  ;  that  the  smallest  part 
had  its  place  and  fitness  in  a  mighty  whole  of  ar- 
chitectonic order  and  magnificence  ;  everv  thins 
touched  upon,  balanced,  and  sustained  its  neighbor, 
ai  this  gi  ?at  plan  of  God  which  soared  far  out  of 


452  OLD  ENGLAND. 

our  feeble  sight.  In  every  trial  and  temptation  let 
us  remember  this,  and  the  time  would  come  when 
we  should  see  the  order  and  the  perfection  of  the 
finished  whole.  His  language,  if  not  his  thought, 
was  plain  and  natural,  adapted  to  the  understanding 
of  children.  I  heard  no  finer  sermon  in  England, 
more  original,  beautiful,  or  spiritual.  It  is  pleasant 
to  me  to  carry  away  from  a  foreign  land  these 
mementoes,  these  golden  fragments.  They  seem 
precious  because  we  have  gathered  them  on  an- 
other soil,  and  found  the  same  truth  at  Athens,  at 
Rome,  in  England,  in  America. 

The  Communion  Service  was  administered  in  the 
simplest  way,  and  was  not  overstrained  but  affec- 
tionate and  free,  without  losing  its  sacredness.  A 
brother  arose  after  the  communion,  and  recalling 
two  or  three  of  the  most  affecting  parts  of  the  dis- 
course, gave  out  a  hymn.  Mr.  Craik  then  spoke 
of  a  woman  who  had  died  the  previous  week,  draw- 
ing with  a  few  happy  strokes  a  fine  Christian  char- 
acter, and  then  asked  all  to  unite  in  prayer  to 
thank  God  that  he  had  given  his  faithful  one  rest 
and  the  crown.  There  was,  as  it  seemed  to  me, 
something  of  the  simplicity  of  the  old  apostolic 
timer,  in  all  the  services ;  no  scenic  effects,  but  a 
true  Christian  pastor  feeding  the  people  with  the 
bread  of  life,  and  finding  a  loving  response  to  every 
word  he  spoke  in  the  faces  of  his  flock,  especially 
in  those  of  the  children.  The  Spirit  of  Christ  was 
Uirely  in  that  place. 

I  have  had  the  privilege  of  joining  in  prayer  ana 


GLASTONBURY  AND  THE  WYE.  453 

praise  with  all  kinds  of  Christians,  with  High  and 
Low  Churchmen,  with  German  Lutherans,  with 
Moravians  and  "  Plymouth  Brethren,"  with  Ameri- 
can Methodists,  with  Independents  and  Baptists, 
with  Irvingites  and  those  who  look  for  the  second 
coming  of  Christ,  with  Quakers  and  Roman  Cath- 
olics, with  Greek  and  Armenian  Christians,  with 
men  of  many  different  languages  and  races,  with 
Copts  and  Syrians,  with  some  whom  we  consider 
in  the  main  errorists,  and  I  may  say  that  with 
much  of  human  vanity  and  error  in  them  all,  I  have 
found  in  all  that  in  which  I  could  heartily  unite, 
and  more  real  piety  and  faith  than  I  was  worthy  to 
participate  in  ;  and  I  will  enjoy  the  thought,  that 
there  is  more  of  the  Spirit  of  Christ  on  earth  than 
many  good  men  think  ;  more  of  the  truth  of  the 
one  living  Lord  sown  deep  in  the  sorrowful  hearts 
of  men,  which  shall  at  some  time  spring  up  in  im- 
mortal light  from  the  dark  earth.  Let  us  at  least 
so  hope. 

Mr.  Miiller  preached  in  the  afternoon  a  dis- 
course upon  the  5th  chapter  of  Luke.  He  gave 
great  life  to  the  explanation  of  Scripture.  He  was 
a  rich  and  thoughtful  exegete.  "  Depart  from  me, 
for  I  am  a  sinful  man,"  was  an  expression,  he  said, 
not  of  true  faith.  The  good  man,  Peter,  learned 
better  afterward.  The  Saviour  pushed  off  in  a 
boat  from  the  shore  in  order  to  be  -better  heard. 
He  did  not  do  a  miracle  when  it  was  unnecessaiy. 
The  net  brake,  but  it  was  only  to  denote  the  mul- 
titude of  fishes,  not  to  show  that  any  should  be  lost. 


454  OLD  ENGLAND. 

The  disciples  caught  nothing  before,  because  they 
did  not  work  under  the  direction  of  Jesus  ;  they 
did  not  put  down  where  he  commanded.  Every 
occupation,  plan,  and  work  of  man,  to  be  truly 
successful,  must  be  done  under  the  direction  of 
Christ,  in  union  with  his  will,  from  love  to  him, 
depending  upon  his  power.  Nothing  was  too  small 
for  this,  not  even  fishing.  How  much  more  in 
trying  to  do  good  to  the  poor,  ignorant,  and 
vile,  —  in  trying  to  be  fishers  of  men. 

The  most  careless  must  have  been  struck  with 
the  calm  and  transparent  purity  of  his  thoughts; 
they  seemed  to  flow  forth  from  a  heart  that  was 
in  union  with  God's  Spirit  and  Word. 

Chepstow,  in  Monmouthshire,  near  the  mouth 
of  the  Wye,  just  across  the  head  of  the  Severn 
River  from  Bristol,  is  the  starting-point  for  tour- 
ists who  visit  Tintern  Abbey,  and  other  points 
of  interest  in  this  lovely  part  of  Wales.  It  is  a 
neat  town  picturesquely  situated  on  the  abrupt 
bank  of  the  river,  with  the  ruined  castle  of  the 
famous  Clare  and  Pembroke  families  still  tower- 
ing above  it,  though  now  but  a  mere  shell  and 
shadow  of  its  former  strength.  Strongbow,  Earl 
of  Pembroke,  was  the  real  founder  of  this  family, 
and  was  the  first  Englishman  who  succeeded  in 
making  permanent  conquest  in  Ireland.  He  made 
himself  for  a  while  an  independent  monarch  of  a 
considerable  portion  of  Ireland,  and  ruled  by  the 
right  of  the  stronger. 

The  castle  wears  even  now  a  massive  and  defi 


GLASTONBURY  AND   THE  WTE.  455 

ant  look,  somewhat  in  the  Alnwick  Castle  style, 
especially  its  frowning  front,  flanked  by  two  lofty 
towers.  The  chapel,  in  almost  utter  ruins,  has 
still  some  good  carving.  A  little  to  the  west  of  the 
castle  there  is  a  noble  view  of  the  valley  cf  the 
Wye,  and  of  the  curve  of  the  river  holding  in  its 
arm  the  beautiful  Piercefield  estate,  with  its  ro- 
mantic scenery  and  walks.  In  this  castle  one  of 
the  regicide  judges,  Harry  Marten,  was  confined 
twenty  years  ;  and  Jeremy  Taylor  was,  for  a  short 
time,  kept  here  as  prisoner  of  state.  One  of  its 
lords  in  the  time  of  the  wars  of  the  Rebellion,  —  a 
man  of  thought  in  those  times  of  action,  — was  the 
Earl  of  Worcester,  who  was  the  author  of  "  The 
Century  of  Scantlings,"  and  whose  original  and 
penetrative  genius  anticipated  many  of  the  most 
important  inventions  of  modern  times. 

The  scenery  of  the  Wye,  though  not  so  bold  as 
some  regions,  is  to  my  mind  as  lovely  as  any  to  be 
found  in  England,  and  indeed  in  some  respects  it  is 
of  surpassing  loveliness.  The  rugged  grandeur 
of  the  Welsh  mountain  landscape  is  here  quite 
softened  down,  but  it  still  forms  a  high  and  shad- 
owy background  of  the  picture.  The  wooded  hills 
on  either  side  are  of  lofty  rounded  forms  breaking 
off  in  high  cliffs  upon  the  stream,  though  here  and 
there  receding  and  affording  space  for  broad  green 
meadows  along  the  banks  of  the  river,  which  winds 
with  rapid  flow  among  the  hills,  solitary  and  yet 
aot  lonelv. 

The  scenery  of  England,  compared  with  that  of 


456  OLD   ENGLAND. 

Italy,  has  been  rightly  called  "  sober,"  but  it  is  a 
soberness  in  which  there  are  touches  and  gleams 
of  high  ornamental  beauty.  It  is  like  the  soberness 
of  a  Doric  temple  with  its  decorated  friezft  and  in- 
tervals of  rich  exquisite  sculpture.  This  delicious 
scenery  of  the  Wye,  with  here  and  there  in  every 
part  of  the  kingdom  such  little  silver-footed  streams 
as  the  Dove,  the  Wharfe,  the  Trent,  the  Fowey, 
the  Tamar,  the  waving  and  gentle  outline  of  the 
hills,  the  unparalleled  sheen  of  the  grass,  the  bright 
northern  lakes  and  the  bosky  combes  of  Devon- 
shire, and  everywhere  the  low  cottage  and  village 
church  hid  in  foliage  and  flowers,  with  the  gray 
ruin  clothed  in  green,  and  now  and  then  a  great 
park  of  venerable  oaks,  some  of  them  a  thou- 
sand years  old,  with  sweeping  glades  of  clean- 
est and  smoothest  lawn,  and  thrown  about  all  a 
delicate  veil  of  continual  mist  that  softens  and 
heightens  each  noble  feature,  —  this  makes  Old 
England  a  strong  and  chaste  home  of  freemen,  a 
beautiful  northern  temple,  which  we  would  ever 
honor  as  the  home  and  shrine  of  our  ancestral 
virtue. 

There  are  few  villages  upon  the  banks  of  the 
Wye,  but  there  is  everywhere  a  charming  rural 
sweetness  and  quietness,  with  great  variety  of 
scenery,  —  now  broad  stretches  of  shining  river 
reflecting  the  tinted  woods,  and  now  narrow  vales 
embosomed  in  high  walls  of  richest  green.  The 
view  from  Wyndcliff  rock  is  indeed  something 
aiore  than  simply  beautiful ;  and,  as  an  exceptions, 
feature,  it  merits  almost   the   epithet   of  sublime. 


GLASTOxVBURY   AND   THE  WYE.  45V 

ft  commands  a  view  of  nine  counties.  Nearly  a 
thousand  i'eet  below  is  the  rushing  stream,  with  the 
rich  vale  and  lovely  Piercefield  meadows,  and  at  a 
distance  directly  to  the  east  clear  across  the 
Gloucestershire  peninsula  the  sea-like  Severn  is 
Been  high  on  the  horizon,  &s  if  it  were  suspended 
midway  in  the  heavens  ;  while  to  the  north  are 
rolling  hill  and  thick  forest,  and  the  dim  mountains 
of  Northern  Wales.  The  scene  has  been  called 
tropical,  as  if  it  were  upon  some  great  African 
river  with  its  vast  stretches  of  distance.  This  is 
partly  just.  There  is  certainly  something  pecul- 
iarly magnificent  both  in  its  land  and  water  pros- 
pect. It  forms  a  splendid  introduction,  or  natural 
frontispiece,  to  the  pensive  glories  of  Tintern 
Abbey. 

This  fine  ruin  stands  in  a  valley,  or  nearly  at 
the  foot  of  a  side  hill,  at  a  curve  of  the  river.  Its 
situation  is  beautiful,  and  it  appears  far  more  per- 
fect at  a  distance  than  it  really  is,  for  it  is  in  fact 
but  the  vast  frame  of  a  building,  rather  than  a 
building  itself.  It  is  now  a  temple  wholly  open  to 
the  elements,  and  paved  with  the  greensward. 
Four  of  its  high  sharp-pointed  gables  remain,  over 
and  around  which  the  ivy  has  gathered  in  opulent 
profusion.  Indeed,  nowhere,  with  the  exception 
of  Kenilworth,  have  I  seen  such  an  enormous 
growth  of  ivy,  such  huge  knots  and  tree-like 
trunks,  resembling  the  clustered  pillars  that  they 
rlimb  up,  sending  out  their  serpentine  arms  that 
wind  over  the    loftiest  wall,  and    hold    ihe   whole 


458  OLD  ENGLAND. 

ruin  ill  tight  embrace.  Especially  about  the  in- 
terior north  window,  and  the  west  end  on  the 
outside,  are  great  masses  of  ivy,  bulging  and  pend- 
ulous, covering  entirely  with  folds  of  dark  drapery 
the  rugged  sides  of  the  old  masonry.  The  ivy  has 
left,  or  been  trained  to  leave,  the  noble  west 
window  clear,  so  that  its  delicately  traceried  lines 
stand  out  in  relief  against  the  sky.  The  carving 
here  and  there  is  as  sharp  as  if  done  yesterday.  In 
the  open  nave,  of  two  hundred  and  twenty-eight 
feet  in  length,  most  of  the  clustered  columns  are 
standing,  and  the  two  east  and  west  windows,  twice 
as  large  as  the  windows  of  Melrose  Abbey,  and 
nearly  perfect  in  their  stone-work,  make  one  mourn 
that  so  much  is  left,  and  yet  that  all  is  hopeless 
ruin. 

But,  as  I  have  said  before,  these  old  English 
abbeys  could  not  be  more  beautiful  in  their  prime 
than  in  their  decay.  Nature  has  claimed  them 
and  tried  all  her  art  to  possess  them  entirely.  She 
has  wound  her  mantle  about  them,  and  hung  her 
banners  over  them,  as  if  to  say,  "  Though  man  has 
left  you  I  make  you  mine,  and  adorn  you  with 
my  best."  The  broken  shadows  of  window,  sharp 
peak,  and  jagged  wall,  the  immense  fragments  of 
columns  and  masonry,  the  massive  drapery  of  ivy, 
the  long  architectural  perspectives  of  nave  and  cross 
aisles,  the  sombre  recesses,  the  gleams  of  pathetic 
beauty  in  this  stern  decay,  the  tender  blue  sky 
Rbove  and  the  green  natural  turf  beneath,  the 
ipirit  of  repose  that  breathes  through  this  desolate 


GLASTONBURY  AND   fHE  WYE.  459 

abode   of  an   older  faith,   form  a  poem  of  subtle 
power. 

One  of  the  gems  of  the  building  is  the  door  of 
the  cloisters  on  the  left  of  the  north  aisle,  its 
wonderfully  preserved  mouldings  showing  what 
Tintern  Abbey  once  was.  It  was  a  monastery  of 
the  Cistercian  or  White  Monks,  founded  by  Walter 
de  Clare,  a  relation  of  the  Conqueror,  in  1132,  in 
expiation,  it  is  said,  of  great  crimes  and  a  wicked 
life.  Probably  most,  if  not  all,  of  the  present 
structure  was  erected  later,  by  Roger  Bigod,  Earl 
of  Norfolk,  in  the  last  part  of  the  thirteenth 
century. 

Tintern  Abbey  is,  by  the  road,  five  miles  from 
Chepstow,  and  about  the  same  distance  from  Mon- 
mouth. 

In  the  town-house  at  Monmouth  stands  the 
statue  of  Henry  V.,  and  in  the  ruined  castle  near 
by  he  was  born.  This  is  one  of  the  worst  pre- 
served ruins  in  the  kingdom.  When  I  saw  it,  it 
was  used  as  a  vegetable  store-house,  and  part  of  it 
was  a  pigsty.  There  was  a  pile  of  dirty  straw  in 
the  grand  fire-place,  and  heaps  of  turnips  in  another 
recess.  But  it  is  still  a  formidable  looking  old 
Norman  keep,  with  a  water-gate  on  the  river. 

St.  Thomas'  Church,  while  small  in  size,  yet 
with  its  recessed  doorway,  round  windows,  and 
curious  diamond-tiled  bell-tower,  impressed  me  by 
Its  picturesque  quaintness.  Geoffry  of  Monmouth's 
itudy  window  is  shown,  overlooking  the  church- 
yard.    It  is  he  who   gives  us  the    story  of  King 


460  OLD  ENGLAND. 

Arthur  —  the  English  Herodotus,  whose  simple 
and  confiding  genius  leads  him  beyond  the  bounda- 
lies  of  sober  history. 

The  hills  lie  around  encircling  the  plain  which 
widens  out  quite  commandingly  here,  forming  the 
place  where  two  streams  meet.  On  the  whole, 
Monmouth  pleased  and  surprised  me,  and  is  fit 
to  be  the  birthplace  of  the  hero  of  the  "  flaming 
beacon  "  lighting  on  to  great  deeds  ;  though  the 
fact  is  a  surprising  one,  that  his  fellow-towns- 
men seem  to  prize  good  turnips  better  than  past 
renown. 

At  the  "  Beaufort  Arms  Hotel,"  I  met  with  two 
English  gentlemen  who  aided  me  greatly  in  my 
touring  investigations,  and  I  must  say,  that  as  a 
tourist  I  have  always  obtained  from  English  fellow- 
travelers  the  most  courteous  response,  and  every 
lid  that  could  well  be  given,  leading  sometimes 
Lo  considerable  personal  inconvenience  on  their 
part. 

Having  sated  my  reader  of  late  with  ruins,  I 
will  leave  Raglan  Castle  without  wearying  them 
with  much  additional  description.  Its  heavy  ma- 
chieolated  towers  and  antique  gateway,  on  the  beau- 
tiful   morning    that    I    saw   it,  with    the  fine    and 

1 11  ate  air,  answered  exquisitely,  to  my  thinking, 
to  the  entrance  of  Macbeth's  Castle.  The  red- 
breasted  birds  hopped  around  almost  tame.  It  was 
lonely  and  silent.  The  dried  leaves  of  autumn 
Iropped  noiseless  in  the  moat.  With  the  exception 
»f  the  janitor,  the  only  life  seemed  to  be  the  birda 


GLASTONBURY  AND  THE  WYE.  461 

and  swans.  The  walls  of  the  ruined  ieep  are 
enormous.  The  view  from  its  top  down  into  the 
hollow  shell  of  the  castle,  and  the  great  cavernous 
spaces,  was  worth  going  far  to  see  ;  and  he  who 
visits  England  without  seeing  Raglan  Castle,  Tin- 
tern  Abbey,  and  the  river  Wye,  does  not  know 
what  beauty  there  is  in  Old  England. 

From  Monmouth  I  went  on  by  coach  ten  miles 
to  Ross,  the  road  following  the  river,  which  was  for 
the  most  part  shut  in  by  high  hills,  passing  the 
Leys  House  estate,  charmingly  situated  on  a  broad 
straight  stretch  of  the  Wye,  and  then  losing  sight 
of  the  river  for  a  while  until  a  little  beyond  Good- 
rich Castle,  we  came  upon  it  again  at  Goodrich 
Hope  Ferry,  four  miles  or  so  from  Ross. 

The  farms  here  were  very  fine,  splendidly  culti- 
vated, and  dotted  over  with  great  symmetrical  hay- 
ricks. This  is  said  to  be  the  best  wheat  land  in  all 
England. 

Ross  is  situated  on  a  hill-side  overhanging  a 
broad  meadow,  and  so  completely  intersected  by 
the  winding  Wye,  like  a  crescent  or  letter  C,  that 
the  town  could  not  have  possibly  stood  in  the  val- 
ley if  it  had  been  desired  to  place  it  there.  Here, 
in  the  principal  church,  the  "  Man  of  Ross  "  is 
buried  ;  and  the  old  market  -  house  which  he 
ibunded  stands  just  opposite  the  house,  not  now 
existing,  where  he  lived. 

"  Behold  the  market-place,  with  poor  o'erspread, 
The  Man  of  Ross  divides  the  weekly  bread." 

This  is  a  pleasant,  comfortable,  agricultural  town. 


462  OLD  ENGLAND. 

a  place  where  it  would  seem,  if  anywhere,  plenty 
and  contentment  might  perpetually  dwell ;  and 
with  this  happy  and  home-like  vision  on  the  banks 
of  the  silvery  Wye,  mingled  with  the  thoughts  of 
charity  and  peace,  I  bid  my  reader  a  hearty  Eng 
jsh  "Good-bye." 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

ENGLAND   EEVISITED. 

It  was  pleasant  once  more  to  feel  the  soft 
English  turf  under  one's  tread,  and  to  see  the 
t'resh-complexioned,  robust  men  and  women  of 
this  humid  isle,  where,  if  it  rains  every  day,  yet, 
between  the  showers,  one  can  get  a  good  deal  of 
fine  weather  out  of  each  day ;  and  then,  after 
walking  and  driving  about  in  this  insular  drizzly 
atmosphere  of  the  blended  sea  and  land,  with 
the  energy  that  it  inspires,  one  is  quite  ready  at 
night  for  a  solid  cut  from  the  heart  of  a  mighty 
sirloin.  A  chatty  English  gentleman  whom  I 
met  in  Germany  told  me  that  when  he  came 
home  to  England  after  a  continental  tour,  the 
lirst  thing  he  did  was  to  call  for  a  large  slice  of 
cold  roast-beef,  and  then  he  felt  as  if  he  could 
go  about  his  business.  Then  he  had  a  foundation 
to  build  upon.  Taine,  in  his  free,  satiric  vein 
says,  "  much  grass,  much  cattle,  much  meat ; 
large  quantities  of  coarse  food  ;  thus  an  absorbing 
and  phlegmatic  temperament  is  supported ;  the 
human  growth,  like  the  animal  and  vegetable,  is 
powerful  but  heavy ;  man  is  amply  but  coarsely 
framed ;  the  machine  is  solid,  but  it  rolls  slowly 


i64  OLD   ENGLAND. 

on  its  hinges,  and  the  hinges  generally  creak  aiid 
are  rusty."  Sincerely  as  I  love  Old  England  and 
her  institutions  I  am  always  content  to  exchange 
her  monotonous  plain  joints  for  artistic  French 
and  German  cookery  ;  for  it  does  require  a  strong 
English  stomach  to  support  English  food  in  the 
manner  in  which  it  is  usually  served.  If  in  our 
own  New  England  there  is  the  well-defined  geo- 
graphical region  of  "  perpetual  pie,"  the  domain  of 
"meat  pie"  and  other  dishes  of  the  " indigesta 
moles"  older  is  universal  in  Old  England.  Those 
remembered  dinners  of  roast  beef  and  Yorkshire 
pudding,  potatoes  and  cheese,  with  that  sole  flash 
of  invention,  the  gooseberry-tart,  when  regarded 
in  the  retrospect  are  something  fearful,  and  it  is 
quite  time  to  drop  the  subject. 

I  am  always  freshly  impressed  when  coining  to 
England  —  in  the  first  hour  in  the  country  — 
with  the  marked  difference  between  the  pronun- 
ciation, and  even  phraseology,  of  Englishmen  and 
Americans,  as  if  they  were  truly  separate  peoples, 
as  they  are,  though  with  one  language,  like  the 
old  Greeks  and  their  Italian  colonists ;  and  I  give 
the  palm  to  Americans  for  distinctness  and  clear- 
ness of  articulation,  with  too  pronounced  and  too 
monotonously  frequent  emphatic  accent,  and  a 
certain  flatness  of  tone  ;  and  to  the  English  for 
riaturalness  and  pleasantness  of  tone,  ending  their 
sentences  as  they  do  with  an  upward  inflection, 
combined  with  thickness  of  speech,  however,  from 
>iie  habit  of  running  wrrds  confusedly  together  ui 


ENGLAND   REVISITED.  4"6o 

regard  more  to  sound  than  to  sense,  or  in  accord 
with  rhythm  rather  than  meaning.  The  English 
has  more  unevenness,  variety,  picturesque  light 
and  shade,  than  American  speech,  and  it  seems  to 
me  more  like  an  original  language,  as  Chaucer 
and  Shakspeare  spoke  it.  We  hear  men  talk 
about  "example,"  and  "command,"  and  "mas- 
ter," with  the  broadest  grave  accent.  The  speak- 
ing in  the  House  of  Commons  struck  me  as  being 
exceedingly  easy,  natural  and  refined.  It  was 
like  earnest  conversation  among  gentlemen.  The 
oratorical  period  has  evidently  passed.  There  was 
no  declamation,  no  affected  loudness,  no  excite- 
ment of  manner,  and  the  only  method  of  marking 
emphatic  statement  was  by  a  change  of  modula- 
tion, or  pitch,  that  was  agreeable  in  breaking  the 
monotony  of  colloquial  address.  Very  much  of 
English  preaching  is  in  this  style.  Such  popular 
preachers  as  Canon  Liddon  and  Dr.  Vaughan  of 
London  are  varied  (sufficiently  so)  in  their  deliv- 
ery from  this  simple  reason,  for  they  have  little 
or  no  oratoiy,  in  the  usual  sense  of  the  word. 
They  talk  straight  on,  trusting  to  the  weightiness 
of  their  thought  and  the  interest  of  their  theme. 
Home  expressions  and  abbreviations  that  one  hears 
are  peculiarly  English.  An  American  would  say, 
'*  Just  as  soon  as  he  drank  it  he  died  ;  "  but  an 
Englishman  would  be  as  apt  to  say,  "  Directly  he 
drank  it  he  died."  We  would  talk  about  "  not 
doing  justice  to  a  piece  of  work  ; "  they  might  say 
*  scamping  it."     In  a  cultivated  English   family 

30 


466  OLD   ENGLAND. 

you  could  possibly  hear  one  remark,  upon  a  chilly 
day,  "  Why,  my  dear,  I  am  nearly  starved  with  tha 
cold  !  "  To  drop  the  "  g  "  at  the  end  of  a  word, 
as  a  little  affectation  of  sentiment,  is  often  notice- 
able in  a  person  who  is  far  too  well  educated  to 
do  the  same  with  an  "  h  "  at  the  beginning  of  a 
word.  An  American  acquaintance  of  mine,  sit- 
ting in  a  railway  carriage  next  to  a  respectable 
English  dame,  spoke  to  her  of  the  appearance  of 
the  sky  as  betokening  a  storm  :  "  Yes,"  she  re- 
plied, "  the  weather  is  quite  thunderfied."  It 
takes  us  long  to  understand  the  English  abbrevi- 
ations  of  some  of  their  proper  names,  such  as 
"  Marshbanks  "  for  "  Majoribanks ;  "  "  Hewel  " 
for  "  Whewell ;  "  and  the  more  familiar  "  Chum- 
ley  "  for  "  Cholmondeley  ; ,;  but  if  these  occur 
among  well-to-do  people,  what  should  we  say  to 
the  broad  English  county  dialects?  It  then,  in 
fact,  ceases  to  be  the  English  language,  in  our 
sense  of  the  word.  We  sometimes  read  speci- 
mens of  these  dialects  in  detached  sentences  of 
u  Punch,"  in  novels  of  English  social  life,  and  in 
Tennyson's  imitations  ;  but  when  heard  in  com- 
mon  conversation  among  the  people  themselves 
we  are  utterly  puzzled  and  astonished,  and  can 
nc  longer  recognize  our  own  mother  tongue.  No 
Yankee  dialect,  as  it  is  called,  can  compare  with 
the  extraordinary  and  utter  perversion  of  what 
both  nations  consider  pure  English  by  the  York- 
shire or  the  Devonshire  homespun  speech.  It 
might  be  asked,  Which  nation  has  receded  fur 


ENGLAND   REVISITED.  467 

tbest  from  the  original  speech  ?  Aie  not,  in  fact 
the  two  nations  somewhat  receding  from  one  an- 
other in  their  ideas  of  the  absolute  integrity  of 
their  common  speech,  and  shall  not  America  from 
henceforth  continue  to  exert  a  great  and  legiti- 
mate influence  upon  the  growth  and  future  modi- 
fications of  the  English  language,  since,  while  the 
highest  standard  may  exist  in  England,  yet  tak- 
ing the  whole  country  through,  among  high  and 
low,  rich  and  poor,  the  language  is  spoken  more 
purely  and  correctly  in  America  than  in  Eng- 
land ? 

On  landing  at  Liverpool,  and  having  passed 
through  the  rapid  and  easy  ordeal  of  the  Custom 
House  (rapid  and  easy  in  comparison  with  the 
Baine  process  in  New  York),  I  drove  at  once  to 
the  station  of  the  North  Western  Railway,  and, 
with  hardly  time  to  snatch  a  hasty  lunch,  I  started 
on  that  swift  road  for  London.  The  transition 
was,  to  me,  marvelous.  Perhaps  no  more  sudden 
change  to  one's  thoughts  can  be  conceived  than  to 
come  up  from  the  endlessly  barren  ocean  and 
whirl  across  this  island  in  the  first  days  of  the  rich 
and  lovely  month  of  June.  The  melancholy  gray 
expanse  of  the  sea  horizon  is  exchanged  for  the 
most  delightful  green  of  any  land  in  the  world. 
No  unsightly  objects  meet  the  eye  —  no  ragged 
fences,  or  stone  walls,  or  waste  places.  The  thick 
blossoming  hedge-rows,  the  bosky  hill-tops,  the 
■magnificent   trees   and  velvet   lawns,  the   perfect 


468  OLD   ENGLAND. 

cultivation  of  every  square  foot  of  land,  reminding 
one  of  Dr.  Johnson's  saying  that  in  England  is  the 
best  cultivated  soil  in  the  world  ;  the  numerous 
flocks  of  sheep  and  herds  of  big,  red  cattle  repos- 
ing in  the  meadows  ;  the  radiant  sheen  of  the 
young  wheat-fields  ;  the  towers  of  great  cathe- 
drals mistity  blue  in  the  distance  as  we  rushed 
along  over  the  land  ;  the  little  thatched  cottages 
smothered  in  roses,  —  all  make  it  "  Merrie  Eng- 
land," of  tale  and  poetry.  But  what  a  miniature 
country  it  is  when  one  can  thus  cross  it  from  shore 
to  shore  in  the  space  of  a  summer  afternoon  ! 
And  I  had,  too,  a  curious  impression  when  I 
reached  London,  thus  coming  to  it  directly  from 
the  sea  and  from  America  :  it  seemed  as  if  great 
London  town  were  but  a  huge  aggregation  of  low 
brick  buildings,  and  that  I  could  stretch  out  my 
arm  over  the  tops  of  all  the  houses  like  a  city  of 
Lilliput.  Thus  the  wide  ocean  and  our  broad 
American  land  dwarf  the  Old  World  until  we  be- 
come used  to  it.  This  magnificent  and  "  spread- 
eagle  "  feeling  soon  wears  off,  I  grant,  but  it  was 
no  illusion  of  vanity,  it  was  a  genuine  feeling,  and 
it  gave  me  a  momentary  sense  of  triumph  as  a 
citizen  of  the  New  World. 

My  lodgings  in  London  for  a  little  time,  on  ac- 
count of  the  central  situation,  were  at  the  upper 
end  of  George  Street  near  Hanover  Square,  which 
during  the  reigns  of  the  Georges  was  one  of  the 
most  fashionable  parts  of  the  city,  and  it  retains  a 
jock  of  stateliness  and  faded  magnificence.     Down 


ENGLAND   REWSITED.  469 

the  street  a  little  way  is  St.  George's  Church,  with 
its  still  handsome  portico,  where  so  many  aristo- 
cratic weddings  have  taken  place,  sung  by  poets 
and  described  by  story-tellers.  Just  opposite  once 
stood  the  mansion  of  Lord  Lyndhurst,  where  he 
lived  and  died,  and  where  John  Copley,  his  father, 
the  American-born  painter,  also  lived  and  died  : 
and  on  Hanover  Square  (so  Mr.  Thornbury  in  his 
"Old  and  New  London"  says),  Mrs.  Somerville, 
that  Newton  among  women  and  peer  of  the  first 
men,  resided  for  a  while  in  her  youth,  and  dabbled 
in  astronomical  studies  in  mortal  fear  of  beinjr  de- 
tected.  In  the  neighboring  Savile  Row,  George 
Grote,  the  historian,  lived  ;  and  Richard  Brinsley 
Sheridan  died,  in  a  good  enough  house  but  in 
poverty  and  in  want  of  the  necessaries  of  life. 

I  often  stopped  in  Hanover  Square  to  admire 
the  spirited  bronze  statue  of  William  Pitt,  by  Sir 
Francis  Chantrey,  representing  him  in  the  act 
of  speaking.  He  was  one  of  Homer's  "  kings  of 
men,"  —  at  the  age  of  twenty-five  the  most  power- 
ful man  in  England  ;  and,  as  a  statesman,  he  was 
in  advance  of  his  times  on  the  great  questions  of 
Catholic  emancipation  and  free  trade,  but  even 
his  giant  strength  was  broken  by  the  stronger 
genius  of  Napoleon.  With  one  or  two  exceptions 
like  this  fine  statue  of  Pitt,  London  has  not  been 
happy  in  its  statues  of  great  men.  Lord  Nelson 
is  a  modern  Simeon  Stylites  hoisted  out  of  sight 
on  the  top  of  a  tad  column  ;  the  Duke  of  Wel- 
'ington  is  military  primness  stiffened  in  everlast- 


470  OLD   ENGLAND. 

ing  brass  ;  and  our  own  George  Peabody  sits  smil 
ing  on  the  mart  of  custom  as  goodness  colossal 
even  to  his  boots. 

I  was  glad  to  be  in  London  at  the  time  of  the 
"  Caxton  Loan  Collection "  at  the  Kensington 
Museum  ;  and  very  fortunate,  also,  to  have  my 
friend  Mr.  Henry  Stevens,  of  the  British  Museum, 
to  act  as  cicerone  to  the  vast  treasures  of  antiq 
uities  in  the  "  black-art  "  of  printing  and  book- 
making.  It  took  one  back  to  "  Faust,"  or  "  Fust," 
and  his  legend  of  being  aided  by  supernatural  in- 
telligence. The  collection  illustrated  the  complete 
typographical  career  of  that  old  hero  of  the  print- 
ing-press and  leader  of  the  "  children  of  light," 
William  Caxton,  who,  until  his  death  in  1491, 
published  at  least  ninety-nine  works,  of  which 
ninety  are  represented  in  this  collection  by  origi- 
nal copies,  and  nine  in  fac-siraile.  There  is  to  be 
Been  the  first  book  ever  printed  in  England,  "  The 
Dictes  and  Notable  Wise  Sayings  of  the  Philoso- 
phers. Folio,  1477."  This  book  formed  the  nu- 
cleus of  the  Caxton  celebration  this  year. 

One  is  struck  with  the  fact  that  the  first  books 
printed  in  England  until  we  come  upon  the  Bible 
itself  are  story-books,  legends,  and  romances.  It 
was  indeed  the  childish  beginning,  and  a  healthy 
one,  too,  of  English  literature.  But  it  should  not 
be  forgotten  that  Caxton  was  the  first  publisher 
of  the  "Canterbury  Tales"  about  1476-78;  and 
le  followed  up  his  first  edition  with  other  mora 
perfect  ones. 


ENGLAND   REVISITED.  471 

Admiration  and  awe  culminate  with  the  unique 
exhibition  of  Bibles,  beginning  with  one  of  the 
first  printed  books,  if  not  the  first,  in  the  world, 
and  still  one  of  the  most  beautiful,  —  the  famous 
"  Mazarin  Bible,"  which  dates  about  1455 ;  its 
true  name  is  the  "  Gutenberg  Bible."  Then  there 
is  the  "  Mentz  Psalter,"  on  pure  vellum,  and 
doubtless  the  most  magnificent  printed  book  in 
existence.  This  superb  volume,  which  modern  art 
has  not  been  able  yet  to  surpass,  was  loaned  by 
Queen  Victoria,  —  a  royal  contribution.  Then, 
after  Tyndale's  versions  of  the  New  Testament, 
comes  the  first  Bible  of  the  Old  and  New  Testa- 
ment ever  printed  in  the  English  language,  "  faith- 
fully and  truly  translated  out  of  Douche  and  Latin 
into  English,"  by  Miles  Coverdale,  1535,  —  vener- 
able book,  whose  history  comes  down  to  us  like  a 
line  of  celestial  light  broadening  through  the  cent- 
imes !  This  precious  book  belongs  to  Earl  Spen- 
cer, who  is  the  largest  contributor  to  the  exhibi- 
tion. But  even  this  sacred  collection  of  Bibles 
has  a  human  and  grotesque  side  to  it.  There  are 
to  be  seen  editions  of  those  noted  Bibles,  with 
their  odd  popular  titles,  which  illustrate  the  im- 
perfections in  the  art  and  history  of  printing : 
"the  Bug  Bible,"  in  which  Psalm  xci.  5  reads, 
"  So  that  thou  shak  not  nede  to  be  afraid  for  any 
Bugges  by  night,  nor  for  the  arrow  that  flyeth  by 
day  ;  "  "  the  Breeches  Bible,"  so  named  after  the 
peculiar  translation  of  Gen.  iii.  7,  —  and,  from 
1560  till  1640,  the  most  popular  Bible  in  Eng- 


s^v>- 


Zr~ 


472  OLD   ENGLAND. 

land,  running  through  two  hundred  editions;  "  the 
Wicked  Bible,"  thus  profanely  called  from  the 
fact  that  by  a  typographical  blunder  the  negative 
had  been  left  out  of  the  seventh  commandment ; 
"  the  Vinegar  Bible,"  because  the  heading  of  the 
twenty-second  chapter  of  Luke  reads,  "  the  Para- 
ble of  the  Vinegar,"  instead  of  "  the  Vineyard." 

I  was  also  exceedingly  interested  in  the  exhibi- 
tion of  national  portraits  which  were  loaned  this 
year  to  the  Kensington  Museum,  in  which  were 
to  be  seen  the  originals  of  many  of  the  classical 
likenesses  of  famous  Englishmen  that  are  familiar 
to  us ,  above  all,  the  "  Chandos  portrait"  of  Shak- 
speare,  representing  a  much  darker,  richer,  more 
passionate  and  even  Italian  face,  than  we  com- 
monly get  che  idea  of,  especially  from  that  smooth, 
unlined,  wooden  countenance  of  the  Stratford-on- 
Avon  bust.  There,  too,  was  the  portrait  of  Mary 
Queen  of  Scots,  beautiful,  but  more  subtle  and 
French  than  her  common  portraits.  The  most  de- 
cidedly handsome  faces  were  those  of  some  of  the 
worst  men,  like  Judge  Jeffreys,  the  Duke  of  Marl- 
borough, and  the  famous  picture  of  Lord  Byron  in 
his  Albanian  costume.  The  beautiful  and  sym- 
pathetic portrait  of  Coleridge  by  our  own  Wash- 
ington Allston,  the  only  satisfactory  likeness  of 
that  dreamy,  gray-eyed  seer,  whose  character  was 
itself  so  well  suited  to  the  style  of  Allston's  poetic 
and  mystical  genius,  gave  me  more  pleasure  than 
even  Landseer's  picture  of  Sir  Walter  in  his  study 
at  Abbotsford,  for  the  one  is  a  true  poem,  and  ths 
other  only  a  fine  picture. 


ENGLAND   REVISITED.  47 


c 


All  the  interest  of  early  English  story  is  con- 
centrated in  the  old  Westminster  palace  of  the 
ancient  kings,  and  in  that  abbey  which  was  built, 
or  begun  to  be  built,  at  the  command  of  St.  Peter 
himself,  on  "  Thorney  Island."  How  can  we  in- 
deed imagine  that  the  spot  where  this  stately  build- 
ing now  stands,  and  has  stood  for  ages,  was  once  a 
weedy,  brambly  island  in  the  Thames,  far  to  the 
west  of  all  the  town  and  houses  of  London ! 

But  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  Westminster 
Abbey  and  Westminster  Hall  are  the  grandest 
places  in  England.  William  the  Conqueror  was 
crowned  in  the  one,  and  Charles  the  First  was 
sentenced  to  death  in  the  other.  Whatever  may 
be  our  personal  opinions  concerning  these  events, 
they  mark  great  epochs  in  England's  history. 
Westminster  Abbey  attracted  me  more  upon  my 
"ast  visit  than  ever  before  ;  I  found  myself  fre- 
quently drawn  into  it,  and  I  was  more  thorough 
and  patient  in  the  study  of  every  part  of  the  build- 
big  than  at  any  previous  time  ;  but  I  thought  often 
while  there  of  a  kindly  speech  made  to  me  in 
America  by  Canon  Kingsley,  to  the  effect  that  if  I 
would  come  to  see  him  in  London  he  would  show 
me  some  things  in  Westminster  Abbey,  as  welt 
as  some  archu3ological  discoveries  in  the  neighbor- 
nood  of  London,  which  few  foreigners,  or  even 
Englishmen  themselves,  had  seen.  What  he  re- 
ferred to  he  did  not  explain  at  the  time ;  but  how 
line  it  would  have  been  to  have  explored  this  ven- 
erable pile  with  such  a  guide,  who  had  the  historic 


474  OLD  ENGLAND. 

imagination  that  could  call  up  the  gorgeous  past, 
and  the  scholar's  ready  learning  as  well  as  the 
poet's  fancy. 

A  remark  of  Dean  Stanley's  concerning  the 
sepulchral  monuments  of  Westminster  Abbey  is 
shrewd  as  well  as  amusing :  that  the  oldest  monu- 
ments always  have  the  sculptured  effigies  in  a  re- 
cumbent position,  as  if  asleep  ;  then,  as  time  goes 
on,  the  figures  are  partially  raised,  as  if  waking 
up ;  then  they  assume  a  sitting  posture ;  until 
those  of  the  present  day  stand  bolt  upright,  show- 
ing, perhaps,  that  this  age  is  the  most  wide-awake 
age  of  all.  There  is  assuredly  a  jarring  want  of 
harmony  in  the  tall,  staring  modern  monuments 
with  the  free  and  simple  lines  of  the  old  edifice 
itself,  and  only  the  more  ancient  tombs,  in  their 
low,  quiet,  horizontal  lines,  fall  in  with  the  majes- 
tic repose  of  the  long-drawn  aisles  and  the  dimly 
lighted  perspectives.  As  to  those  who  lie  beneath 
these  monuments,  some  of  the  men  seem  to  have 
been  born  and  lived  just  in  order  to  be  buried  in 
Westminster  Abbey,  —  such  a  man,  for  instance, 
as  Macaulay;  but  other  men,  greater  even  than 
he,  were  better  buried  beneath  the  greensward 
and  under  the  starry  roof  of  heaven,  like  that  nat- 
ure's king,  William  Wordsworth,  and  —  long  may 
the  event  be  delayed  —  Thomas  Carlyle.  Nature 
and  not  art  is  alone  grand  enough  for  the  fit  me- 
morializing of  such  souls  ;  and,  were  Shakspeare 
laid  by  the  river-side  —  so  sweet  and  beautiful  at 
many  spots  near  Stratford  —  of  his  own  willow- 


ENGLAND   REVISITED.  475 

fringed  Avon,  it  would  have  been  a  fitter  resting- 
place  than  the  parish  church. 

In  visiting  the  British  Museum,  from  some  en- 
thusiasm or  idiosyncrasy  of  early  education,  I  am 
always  especially  attracted  to  the  classical  an- 
tiquities, and,  of  these,  to  the  effigies  of  the  old 
Roman  emperors  ;  and  this  year  I  tried  to  com- 
bine a  study  of  the  British  Museum  and  of  the 
Louvre  in  this  somewhat  favorite  line  of  obser- 
vation. The  British  Museum  is  much  richer  in 
Greek  antiquities,  but  the  Louvre  in  Latin,  though 
from  both  I  obtained  a  truer  impression  than  could 
have  been  gained  from  one  alone.  In  the  numer- 
ous repetitions  of  the  busts  of  the  same  emperor 
we  can  read  the  rapid  deterioration  of  the  char- 
acter of  Nero,  from  the  smooth-faced  youth  to  the 
bloated,  sensual  man,  —  the  demoniac  man  with 
every  expression  of  higher  humanity  taken  out  of 
him,  —  a  terrible  symbolism  of  irresponsible  im- 
moral power.  We  can  read  also  the  growth  of 
virtuous  character  from  the  beautiful  and  angelic 
boy  face  of  Marcus  Aurelius  to  the  saintly  coun- 
tenance of  the  crowned  and  laureled  monarch, 
towed  with  the  weight  of  empire  and  of  great  sad 
thoughts  of  humanity.  There,  too,  is  the  wicked 
countenance  of  Caligula,  who  had  some  flashes  of 
rough-hewn  sense  under  his  savageness,  as  instanced 
by  his  witty  criticism  of  Seneca's  writings  ;  the  dan- 
dified Lucius  Verus  ;  the  voluptuous  Hadrian,  who 
still  had  his  pensive  moments,  and  couM  say  to 
his  soul,  "Quce  nunc  abibis  in  loco;"  above  all, 


176  OLD   ENGLAND. 

the  visage  of  the  mighty  Julius,  a  real  man,  a 
true  likeness  wherever  you  see  it,  and  not  one 
made  up  by  the  artist  to  flatter  imperial  vanity: 
lean  and  ploughed  by  deep  lines  of  thought,  an 
unevenly  shaped  head  bent  forward  as  if  by  the 
burden  of  imperial  cares,  a  hooked  nose,  pro- 
truding lips,  and  large  mouth  firmly  closed,  with 
strong  lines  about  it ;  no  dream  of  calm  Cesarean 
power  like  that  even  of  the  first  handsome  Napo- 
leon, but  of  a  man  of  conflict,  who  fought  his  way 
to  greatness,  and  who  built  the  foundations  of  an 
empire  to  last  for  ages.  I  do  not  think  one  sees 
the  face  of  a  mere  soldier  in  the  portraits  of  Julius 
Caesar,  as  shown  in  the  busts  now  in  the  British 
Museum,  the  Louvre,  and  the  Vatican,  but  of 
something  more,  —  of  a  man  who  determined  to 
gain  mastery  by  the  exertion  of  every  means,  of 
arms,  as  then  the  necessary,  but  perhaps  in  his 
own  estimation  the  most  insignificant,  instrumen- 
tality of  all.  If  he  had  lived  longer,  his  achieve- 
ments in  arms  would  have  been  surpassed  by  his 
achievements  in  letters  and  in  government.  Such 
portraits,  preserved  to  us  by  art,  are  invaluable, 
4rt  lights  up  history  so  luminously  that,  where  it 
is  practicable,  our  colleges  should  never  be  with- 
out their  careful  instruction  in  art,  which  is  sc 
especially  essential  in  the  study  of  the  classics 
that  this  study  is  almost  a  dry  and  juiceless  exer- 
cise without  the  living  illustration  to  be  derived 
from  the  more  picturesque  side  of  the  human 
mind.     This  is  the  concrete  of  thought,  breathing 


ENGLAND   REVISITED.  477 

tLe  very  life,  or  the  life  of  the  more  humane  qual- 
ities and  affections  of  the  soul.  The  study  of  art 
combined  with  the  kindred  branches  of  archae- 
ology, history,  poetry,  rhetoric,  ethnology,  and 
geography  would  put  a  new  life  into  the  pursuits 
of  classical  literature  as  followed  in  our  American 
schools  and  colleges,  where  (though  this  is  now 
greatly  modified  in  our  larger  universities)  it  some- 
times has  seemed  as  if  only  the  barest  frame-work 
of  the  science  were  built  up,  —  a  kind  of  philo- 
(ogic  skeleton-stringing,  —  and  it  was  left  with- 
out life,  aim,  or  practical  interest  for  the  student. 
The  classics,  of  all  studies,  should  be  taught  in  a 
living  way.  We  have  yet  to  learn  much  in  this 
regard  from  England  and  the  Old  World.  If  the 
plan  suggested  should  be  adopted,  it  would,  I  am 
sure,  make  a  different  tiling  of  this  study,  and 
the  old  controversy  between  the  classics  and  the 
physical  sciences  would  come  to  an  end.  Mental 
discipline  would  be  secured,  and  the  logical  and 
critical  powers  cultivated,  but  not  at  the  price  of 
mental  disgust  and  the  death  of  healthy  enthu- 
siasm for  scholarly  pursuits. 

The  above  little  digression  upon  classical  studies 
^uts  one  in  mind  of  Oxford,  and  I  was  made  for- 
cibly to  see  how  different  a  place  may  look  at  dif- 
ferent seasons,  and  under  favorable  and  unfavor- 
able aspects,  by  visiting  Oxford  for  a  few  hours  in 
vacation  time  in  hot  July  weather,  and,  of  all  days 
in  the  year  to  see  a  town  when  everybody  is  in 
the  country,  on    a    bank   holiday.     Oxford  was, 


478  OLD   ENGLAND. 

tinder  these  circumstances,  as  dull  an  old  place  as 
one  would  wish  to  see.  The  tumble-down,  nar- 
row, creaky  little  coffee-room  at  the  "  Mitre " 
was  receiving  a  disagreeable  coat  of  paint ;  the 
streets  were  altogether  deserted  of  students,  and 
even  of  townspeople  ;  the  colleges  looked  solitary 
and  worn,  like  uninhabited  monasteries ;  "  Tom 
Quad  "  at  Christ  Church  and  "  Peckwater  Quad  " 
were  strewed  with  stones  and  mortar-beds,  and 
the  carpets  and  furniture  of  students'  rooms  turned 
out  for  airing  and  cleaning ;  the  cavernous  kitchen 
and  huge  chimney-place  no  longer  glowed  ;  the 
grim  "  oak  "  was  sported  at  every  door,  and  even 
the  amiable  scout,  ready  for  loose  shillings  and 
crowns,  was  absent  on  some  junketing  frolic  in 
the  country.  Where  were  the  venerable  Deans 
and  Dons  ?  Where  were  the  lively  gownsmen  ? 
The  sounding  beaches  and  cliffs  of  Scarboro', 
Brighton,  and  Devonshire,  the  heathery  moors 
and  blue  lakes  of  Scotland,  the  airy  hotels  and 
6ky-piercing  mountains  of  Switzerland  could  give 
the  answer  much  better  than  these  hot,  battered 
old  walls.  To  be  sure  everything  was  dry  and 
dusty,  and  the  Isis  and  Cherwell  had  shrunk  to 
their  tiny  accustomed  channels  ;  and  how  good  it 
would  be,  I  thought,  if  they  could  be  kept  there  ! 
It  is,  indeed,  a  most  serious  question  for  the  health 
of  the  generations  of  English  youth  educated  at 
Oxford,  how  the  overflow  of  the  Thames  may  be 
prevented  ;  and  it  is  certainly  a  singular  fact  that 
the  two  great  universities  of  England  should  b« 


ENGLAND   REVISITED.  4\W 

m  the  lowest,  wettest,  and  among  tbe  naca\  ur- 
healthful  towns  in  all  the  land.  J*'or  man}*  vaile^ 
in  the  neighborhood  of  Oxford  tht«  Tharnea  over- 
flows its  banks  (probably  on  account  of  the  benda 
in  the  river)  in  the  winter  and  spring,  as  it  ban 
done  for  ages,  and  all  the  science  of  a*l  the  schools 
seems  to  be  unable  to  devise  a  remedy-  We  would 
venture  to  say  to  this  learned  fraternity*  "  Send  ici 
Mr.  Eads  of  Mississippi  fame,  who  will  tell  yov» 
how  to  do  it  in  the  shortest  time  by  the  a  fov 
tiori  method." 

Notwithstanding  these  drawbacks  to  Aid  Oxford, 
my  admiration  for  the  town  and  the  university 
has  suffered  no  diminution,  but  grow*  stronger 
and  stronger.  It  is  the  school  of  great  English- 
men in  church  and  state,  and  by  its  generoun 
nourishment  of  young  intellects,  and  iis  princely 
system  of  scholarships  and  rewards,  it  su3iains  the 
cause  of  sound  learning  and  spiritual  inteJigence 
in  these  materialistic  times,  and  enriches  and 
deepens  the  educated  mind  of  England,  that  com- 
bines, as  Emerson  says,  "  the  highest  energy  in 
affairs  with  supreme  culture,"  and  that  is,  on  the 
whole,  superior  to  the  culture  of  any  other  coun- 
try in  the  world  ;  or,  as  Arthur  Hugh  Clough 
says,  "  the  old  wells  of  learning  are  there." 

Circumstances  did  not  permit  me  to  travel 
much  in  England  upon  my  recent  visit  there,  but 
going  out  of  London  I  spent  some  time  with  my 
family  at  Tunbridge  Wells,  which  is  so  delightfu 


4S0  OLD   ENGLAND. 

a  health-resort  and  the  centre  of  a  very  rich  re- 
gion. In  a  preceding  chapter  I  have  already 
given  some  little  description  of  this  place,  but  it 
never  looked  more  charming  than  in  this  month 
of  June.  The  roses  and  rhododendrons  were  ii 
full  bloom,  and  poor,  indeed,  is  the  mansion  01  cot 
that  does  not  boast  heavy  patches  of  these  brilliant 
flowers  in  its  door-way  and  front-yard.  The  cool 
breezes  from  the  English  Channel  attemper  the 
fiery  heats  of  summer,  and  here  flock  the  tired 
Londoners,  wearied  out  with  the  noise  and  fashion 
of  a  "  London  season,"  just  as  they  did  in  the  days 
of  Lord  Chesterfield  and  Dr.  Johnson. 

The  drives  about  Tunbridge  Wells  are  of  al- 
most unrivaled  beauty,  surpassed  alone  by  the 
region  about  Leamington  and  one  or  two  places  in 
the  neighborhood  of  "  the  lake  country."  Deep- 
scooped  Kentish  lanes,  overhung  with  tangled 
shrubs  and  vines,  bring  one,  as  in  a  romance,  be- 
fore he  is  aware,  to  the  entrance  of  an  ivy-hung 
castle,  or  a  ruined  monastery.  It  is  a  region  of 
surprises,  and  no  more  lovely  poem  of  the  olden 
time  is  to  be  found  than  is  Penshurst  Castle,  the 
birthplace  and  home  of  Sir  Philip  Sidney,  where 
he  wrote  the  greater  part  of  his  prose  poem  of 
"  Arcadia,"  which,  like  the  "  Faerie  Queene  "  of 
Edmund  Spenser,  so  many  praise  but  so  few  read. 
I  once  lingered  and  dozed  over  its  unreal  pages 
during  a  former  long  summer  vacation,  hardly 
knowing  whether  I  were  awake  or  in  a  dream 
yet  there  is  a  spirit  that  breathes  through  it  as 


ENGLAND   REVISITED.  481 

from  a  golden  age ;  for,  although  the  production 
of  a  young  man  in  the  period  between  the  ideal 
and  the  actual  of  life,  and  full  of  dream-like  mel- 
ancholy, it  has  gleams  of  a  noble  soul  awakening 
to  its  immortality  of  action,  and  clearing  itself  of 
the  splendid  but  uncertain  mists  of  fancy.  As  to 
Penshurst  Castle  itself,  one  sees  in  the  midst  of  a 
wide  deer-park  long  lines  of  low,  gray,  battle- 
raented  walls,  which  inclose  a  spacious  baronial 
hall  hung  with  old  armor,  with  an  open,  round 
fire-place  in  the  centre  ;  rooms  furnished  with  the 
same  furniture,  and  glass  chandeliers  and  hang- 
ings, as  in  the  time  of  Queen  Elizabeth  ;  and  a 
trimly  bordered  Pleasance,  or  ornamental  gar- 
den. Portraits  of  Sir  Philip  Sidney  in  his  early 
youth,  of  his  sister  the  Countess  of  Pembroke,  of  the 
beautiful  "  Sacharissa,"  and  of  Algernon  Sidney, 
with  an  odd  painting  of  Lord  Leicester  dancing 
with  Queen  Elizabeth  in  a  very  free  and  easy 
way,  adorn  the  show-apartments.  There  is  an  air 
of  antique  repose,  and  of  simple  breadth  and  maj- 
esty about  this  dwelling,  going  back  to  the  times 
of  the  Norman  Conquest ;  and,  associated  as  it  is 
with  such  high  spirits  as  Sir  Philip  and  Algernon 
Sidney,  it  is  a  place  of  interest  peculiarly  English 
and  noble. 

Not  far  removed  from  Penshurst  is  Hever  Cas- 
tle, belonging  to  the  Tudor  period  and  associated 
with  Henry  VIII.  and  Anne  Boleyn  ;  but  a  per- 
eet  gem-like  antique  is  Ightaic  Moat,  and  in  all 
jxj  walks  about  England  I  never  saw  anything 

21 


#82  OLD   ENGLAND. 

tqual  to  it  for  its  exquisite  air  of  well-preserved 
medievalism.  It  is  at  this  day  kept  as  a  gentle- 
man's residence,  and  is  a  charmingly  cozy  place  to 
live  in,  although  it  is  approached,  as  in  the  olden 
time,  by  a  narrow  stone  bridge  over  a  moat  filled 
with  running  water  that  completely  surrounds  it. 
It  lies  in  a  shady  hollow  of  delicious  greenery  and 
you  come  upon  it  when  least  expecting,  as  the 
child  in  the  German  legend  discovered  the  elfin- 
palace  in  the  deep  bosom  of  the  forest. 

A  longer  drive,  in  the  direction  of  the  weather- 
beaten  town  of  Hastings  on  the  bluffs  of  the  sea- 
coast,  brings  us  to  the  remains  of  Battle-Abbey, 
built  by  William  the  Conqueror  as  the  monument 
and  thank-offering  of  his  great  victory.  There 
the  fluent-tongued  servitor  will  tell  you  the  exact 
Bpot  where  the  English  royal  standard  was  planted 
and  where  Harold  fell !  The  ruins  of  this  im- 
mense abbey  stand  now  in  massive  fragments,  an 
isolated  tower .  here  and  a  mouldering  gateway 
there ;  but  from  its  walls  you  may  see  the  green 
but  once  wooded  hill  of  Semlac,  and  the  rolling 
country  towards  the  sea,  over  which  the  Norman 
host  came  up  in  all  its  pride  of  banners  to  wrest 
the  sceptre  from  the  stubborn  grasp  of  the  Saxon 
king,  thereby  bringing  an  element  into  English 
civilization  that  has  made  England  the  subduing 
and  law-giving  nation  that  it  is,  organizing  col- 
onies, extending  itself,  and  bringing  into  order 
und  established  forms  the  various  peoples  under 
!ta  sway  ;  while  the  old  Saxon  or  the  Anglo-Ger 


ENGLAND   REVISITED.  482 


<_ 


man  element  gives  to  this  mixed  English  race  its 
freedom,  its  poetry,  its  art,  its  manners,  and  its 
Horal  characteristics,  —  truly  a  subtle  mixture  of 
mental  forces  that  tells  to  this  day  on  the  best 
fortunes  of  man.  We  may  compassionate  the 
Saxon  Harold  in  the  glowing  pages  of  Lytton  and 
Tennyson,  but  we  know  now  that  God  meant  that 
the  wrath  and  pride  of  Norman  William  should 
conquer,  and  that  the  residue  of  wrath  should  be 
restrained  for  the  good  and  progress  of  humanity. 
One  of  the  most  magnificent  modern  residences 
of  Tunbridge  Wells  is  Eridge  Castle,  the  seat  of 
the  Earl  of  Abergavenny.  The  park  alone  con- 
tains some  two  thousand  acres,  and  the  rides  and 
drives  through  the  estate  are  said  to  exceed  sev- 
enty miles  in  length ;  and  this  is  but  one  of  the 
earl's  many  domains,  and  not  the  largest  of  them. 
There  can  be  no  doubt  that  the  soil  of  Great 
Britain  is  almost  exclusively  held  by  the  landed 
gentry.  The  statement  is  made  by  a  competent 
writer  that  "  12,791  persons  are  returned  as  own- 
ers of  four  fifths  of  the  soil  of  the  island,  their 
aggregate  property,  exclusive  of  that  within  the 
metropolitan  boundaries,  being  40,180,775  acres, 
and  in  point  of  fact  the  number  of  owners  of  four 
fifths  of  the  soil  of  Great  Britain  is  nearer  five 
thousand  than  ten  thousand."  Of  these,  five  hun- 
dred are  noblemen,  and  four  or  five  of  them,  like 
the  Dukes  of  Buccleuch  and  Bedford,  swallow  up 
the  rest.  They  are  the  whales  among  the  min- 
nows.    Where  this  system  of  land-monopoly  is  to 


484  OLD  ENGLAND. 

end,  and  how  the  joint  right  of  the  people  in 
their  native  soil,  the  right  to  buy  land,  to  culti- 
vate it  and  to  live  upon  it,  is  to  be  secured,  ia 
more  than  the  political  wisdom  of  the  times  can 
compass. 

The  Princess  Louise  and  the  Marquis  of  Lome 
have  a  place  at  Tunbridge  Wells,  called  "  Dorn- 
den,"  whose  grounds  and  gardens  are  said  to  be 
quite  beautiful,  although  the  house  from  the  out- 
side is  dull  and  unattractive.  The  Princess  Louise, 
like  her  sister  Victoria  of  Prussia,  seems  to  be  in 
genuine  earnest  in  her  efforts  directed  to  the  good 
of  the  poorer  classes,  and  especially  of  friendless 
and  orphaned  girls  ;  and  let  us  give  to  these  titled 
personages,  who  from  no  choice  of  their  own  are 
"  born  in  the  purple,"  the  credit  of  high-minded 
benevolence  whenever  they  possess  this  quality, 
and  at  the  same  time  rejoice  that  our  own  land 
is  not  burdened  by  an  aristocratic  class,  beyond 
what  intelligence  and  worth  may  raise  up  among 
'is.  At  all  events  there  is  no  nobility  now  left  in 
Europe  which  is  worth  much,  except  the  English 
nobility.  That  has  wealth  and  culture,  ancestral 
dignity  and  virtue,  with  something  in  acre  and 
bank  to  back  it  up  ;  neither  can  it  be  bought  for 
a  quarter's  revenue  of  a  German  banker,  or  the 
mice  of  a  third-rate  Italian  picture.  The  thor- 
oughly rotten  side  of  the  English  aristocracy,  how- 
fever,  is  not  so  pleasant  to  contemplate,  and,  un- 
fortunately, decay  is  ever  more  rapid  than  healthj 
growth. 


ENGLAND   REVISITED.  48b 

While  in  England  for  even  a  short  time  one 
cannot  avoid  becoming  somewhat  interested  in 
the  great  questions  that  move  the  country ;  and, 
passing  by  the  Eastern  question,  which,  while  1 
was  in  England,  was  going  through  the  Gladstone 
anti-Turkish  blaze  of  excitement,  on  the  whole  of 
a  noble  but  unfortunately  quite  ephemeral  charac- 
ter, we  come  upon  the  Church  question,  which,  in 
England,  is  a  chronic  one,  and  is,  it  appears  to 
me,  of  more  profound  reach  and  importance  than 
most  Englishmen,  when  they  speak  of  it,  profess 
to  think,  since  it  enters  into  the  conscience  of  the 
people  and  touches  their  dearest  rights.  The  sim- 
ple condition  of  things  now  seems  to  be  that  the 
national  church  in  England,  representing  in  the 
main  its  religious  life,  is  unfortunately  subordi- 
nated to  the  civil  power,  so  that  its  officers  might 
almost  be  regarded  as  government  officers,  and  all 
parties  in  the  church,  and  all  classes  of  religionists 
outside  of  the  Established  Church,  feel  the  unnat- 
ural and  disturbing  influence  of  this  mixed  system 
of  church  and  state  which  has  been  handed  down 
from  the  time  of  Henry  VIII.,  and,  as  some  think, 
is  at  the  present  time  specially  aggravated  by  the 
fact  that  the  royal  supremacy  of  former  times  in 
the  church  has  passed  entirely  into  the  hands  of 
the  Parliament  and  its  self-elected  courts  of  ap- 
peal. The  Liberal  party  in  England  have,  it  is 
true,  gained  extraordinary  successes  within  the 
<a£-  quarter  of  a  century,  as  evidenced  by  the  abo- 
lition of  church  rates,  the  removal  of  university 


486  OLD   ENGLAND. 

tests  and  disabilities,  and  the  establishment  of  a 
national  system  of  education  ;  but  more  radical  re- 
forms than  these  are  called  for,  and  are  inevita- 
ble. The  next  great  issue  made  by  the  Liberal 
party  will  be,  it  is  said,  the  plan  of  disestablish- 
ing the  English  Church.  That  this  plan  of  sud- 
den and  violent  "  disestablishment "  so  energet- 
ically and  boldly  urged  by  the  Liberal  party  ia 
to  be  the  panacea  of  all  evils  in  England,  eccle- 
siastical and  political,  I  cannot  see  so  plainly  as 
some  do  ;  but  I  am  of  the  opinion  that  while  dis- 
establishment is  but  a  question  of  time,  and  may 
take  place,  —  some  predict  in  twenty -five  years, 
but  this  to  me  seems  incredible,  —  yet  with  the 
march  of  progress  in  other  things,  and  with  the 
changes  that  are  surely  to  occur  in  the  whole  polit- 
ical and  social  constitution  of  England,  whereby 
the  popular  element  will  acquire  greater  strength, 
and  moral  forces  in  both  church  and  state  take 
the  place  of  prescriptive  laws,  —  in  other  words, 
when  the  sphere  of  conscience  is  freed  from  the 
dominion  of  civil  government,  and,  on  the  other 
hand,  the  state  is  relieved  from  all  ecclesiastical 
interference  whatsoever,  then  this  matter  of  the 
mutual  adjustment  of  the  spiritual  and  temporal 
interests  of  the  land  will  come  about  more  easily 
and  naturally.  The  English  national  church  has 
a  grand  history,  and  is  a  vast  power  for  good,  and 
it  is  very  much  like  the  English  monarchy,  hav- 
ing an  essential  identification  in  all  its  forms  with 
English  life  and  English  Christian  life,  and  whe» 


ENGLAND   REVISITED.  487 

England  changes  it  will  change.  But  wherever 
the  present  ecclesiastical  system  presses  unjustly 
upon  the  rights  of  other  Christian  bodies  it  must 
yield.  The  best  men  in  it  see  this.  The  English 
people  are  the  same  that  they  were  in  the  times 
of  Cromwell ;  they  have  the  will  to  assert  their 
rights  when  it  is  perceived  that  these  are  denied 
them.  The  sneer  of  a  prime-minister  cannot  now 
set  aside  a  popular  movement  in  the  direction  of 
what  is  clearly  just,  and  there  are  currents  of  in- 
fluence at  work  in  the  world  deeper  than  the  sub- 
tlest combinations  of  statesmen,  or  the  schemes  of 
church  councils.  If  broad-minded  men  in  the 
English  Church,  like  the  Archbishop  of  Canter- 
bury and  the  Dean  of  Westminster,  were  permit- 
ted to  conduct  its  affairs,  there  can  be  no  doubt 
that  matters  might  be  harmonized  without  vio- 
lence being  done  to  any  party  ;  and,  for  one,  I 
bless  God  that  there  is  a  broader  light  diffused 
upon  religious  matters  throughout  all  divisions  of 
the  Christian  church  which  shall  shame  the  petti- 
ness and  presumption  of  sectarian  pretensions.  I 
can  even  honor  the  sincerity  of  the  High  Church 
party,  or  the  Ritualists,  in  England,  who  are  will- 
ing to  forego  the  privileges  of  church  connection, 
Cor  the  sake  of  their  independence,  though  others 
tee,  if  they  do  not,  that  the  moment  disestablish- 
ment comes  they  will  lose  their  prestige  and  sink 
So  the  level  of  a  numerically  insignificant  sect.  I 
am  of  the  opinion  (and  it  is  by  no  means  original 
with  myself)  that  it  is,  after  all,  the  fact  of  the 


488  OLD  ENGLAND. 

social  inequalities  of  English  life,  the  immense  ar- 
rogance of  the  caste-principle  in  English  society, 
which  is  the  rub.  Doubtless,  much  the  greater 
part  of  the  wealth  and  culture  of  England  is  to  be 
found  in  the  Established  Church,  but  not  all.  One 
quarter  certainly  of  the  inhabitants  of  England 
may  be  reckoned  to  be  among  the  Non-conformist 
orders,  and  this  great  body  is  continually  increas- 
ing in  numbers,  intelligence,  wealth,  and  influence. 
I  heard  a  London  clergyman  exhort  his  flock,  in 
what  he  seemed  to  think  was  the  excess  and  con- 
summate crown  of  Christian  toleration,  not  to 
cherish  scornful  feelings  towards  their  schismatic 
neighbors  of  various  sects,  though  indeed  they 
were  but  poor  illiterate  folk  who  knew  no  theol- 
ogy but  what  ranting  preachers  in  conventicles 
taught  them,  and,  the  inference  was,  who  had  no 
culture  or  breeding  that  entitled  them  to  respect. 
He  left  the  impression  that  this  was  the  sober 
truth  respecting  all  who  worshiped  outside  of  the 
pale  of  the  Established  Church.  This  was  an  ex- 
hibition of  ignorance  at  least.  I  must  suppose  that 
it  was  an  exceptional  case  of  fatuity  which  any 
decent  Churchman  of  average  ability  would  not 
render  himself  liable  to  be  accused  of,  but  much 
remains  to  be  done  in  England  to  teach  men 
breadth,  catholicity  and  charity.  Charles  Kings- 
ley  could  recognize  in  Norman  McLeod  a  peer 
.  ntellectually,  socially,  spiritually  ;  he  could  also 
recognize  the  nobility  of  American  faith  and  the 
genuineness  of  American  culture.     We  would  set 


ENGLAND  EEVISITED.  489 

more  Englishmen  like  these  who,  while  scholars 
and  thinkers,  are  willing  to  acknowledge  that 
Borne  things  in  religion  as  in  politics  are  not  yet 
quite  settled  and  understood  ;  who  respect  worth 
wherever  found;  and  then  there  would  be  less  of 
narrow  prejudice  on  our  side  of  the  water  toward 
the  old  country. 

Nothing  have  I  regretted  more  in  my  last  brief 
visit  to  England  than  that  I  could  not  have  seen 
two  men  vei*y  different  in  their  mental  charac- 
teristics but  unsurpassed  intellectually,  —  John 
Henry  Newman  and  Thomas  Carlyle.  The  mel- 
ancholy Tennyson,  Browning  "  Der  Einzigef 
lluskin,  Morris,  Matthew  Arnold,  —  I  could  have 
contentedly  left  them  all  unseen,  but  I  did  ear- 
nestly desire  to  look  on  those  two  foremost  living 
representatives  of  English  literature,  and,  above 
all,  upon  the  face  of  the  Scotch  Jupiter,  whose 
rugged  brow  has  been  the  forge  of  Olympian 
thunderbolts.  The  deep  stirrings  in  one's  own 
intellectual  history,  the  spiritual  up-heavings  and 
renewals  wrought  by  such  master-minds  are  mat- 
ters of  profounder  import  and  interest  than  West- 
minster Abbey  or  Saint  Paul's  Cathedral,  and  I 
would  reaffirm  here  the  simple  statement  made 
years  ago  in  this  volume,  that  it  is,  after  all,  our 
common  English  literature,  which  binds  us  as  na- 
tions together,  above  all  other  influences.  I  have 
»elt  this  in  my  own  inmost  being,  and,  from  this 
reason  perhaps,  am  inclined  to  judge  others  by 
myself. 


190  OLD   ENGLAND. 

• 

How  noble  a  plant  indeed  is  this  English  litera- 
ture, and  yet  how  slow-growing  a  tree  !  Its  seed, 
brought  from  the  far  East,  was  sown  long  ago  in 
German  soil ;  it  shot  its  roots  under  the  sea  into 
the  little  island  ;  it  was  watered  with  the  tears  of 
the  Celt  and  the  blood  of  the  Saxon ;  it  was 
grafted  by  the  Norman  sword  and  the  French 
steel ;  it  was  tossed  by  the  winds  and  tempests  of 
revolutions ;  it  felt  the  quickening  heats  of  the 
Reformation  ;  its  fruits  were  borne  over  the  ocean 
into  distant  regions,  and  they  have  sprung  up 
among  us  in  America,  where  the  old  stock  is 
flourishing  under  brighter  suns  in  its  tender  and 
rapidly  growing  renewed  life.  But  blessed  be  the 
dear  English  soil  where  still  its  sweetest  and 
noblest  life  has  been.  May  the  suns  and  dews  of 
heaven  keep  it  ever  in  perpetual  green  I 


CHAPTER    XXVL 

OLD    AND    NEW. 

It  is  surprising  how  much  of  historic  interest 
is  to  be  found  in  the  fen-lands  of  the  counties 
bordering  upon  the  North  Sea  and  English  Chan- 
nel ;  clustering  about  the  broad-mouthed  Hum- 
ber  and  the  Wash,  their  coasts  encroached  upon 
by  the  sea  and  undergoing  change,  so  that  what 
was  firm  land  is  now  marsh  ;  penetrated  by  wide 
estuaries  and  innumerable  small  streams  and  ca- 
nals ;  flat  as  the  scenery  of  Holland,  but  varied 
by  slight  eminences,  on  which  stand  towns  with 
tall  towers,  like  Lincoln  and  Ely ;  it  being  the 
case  in  low  countries  that  buildings  instinctively 
and  by  contrast  rise  to  loftier  proportions,  or  as 
landmarks  to  be  seen  from  the  sea  and  long 
distances  inland.  But  in  these  intricate  and  im- 
passable fen-lands,  as  in  mountainous  countries, 
whatever  was  precious  in  times  of  peril  found 
refuge,  and  they  became  fastnesses  of  freedom  ; 
as  the  Italian  people,  driven  from  the  mainland 
by  Hunnish  invaders,  fled  to  the  sand-islands  of 
the  lagoons  and  built  Venice.  As  early  as  the 
invasion  of  the  Romans,  the  marsh-lands  afforded 
shelter  to  the   unyielding  Britons,  and  here,  too, 


492  OLD    ENGLAND. 

the  English  retreated  at  the  time  of  the  Norman 
conquest ;  and  our  forefathers,  who  were  mostly 
from  Lincolnshire  and  the  low-lying  regions,  may 
have  drawn  their  love  of  independence  from  this 
early  source.  These  counties  occupy  what  were 
once  the  great  realms  of  Northumbria,  Mercia,  and 
Wessex,  which  in  Alfred's  time,  and  after  the 
establishment  of  the  Saxon  heptarchy,  grew  into 
the  kingdom  of  England. 

On  my  way  from  Scarborough  to  Cambridge, 
in  the  summer  of  1888,  I  went  to  see  the  ruins 
of  the  Abbey  of  Croyland,  to  which  I  was  at- 
tracted, not  only  because  it  was  the  germ  of 
Cambridge  University,  but  from  historic  and  po- 
etic reasons,  representing  as  it  does  a  "  storm  and 
stress"  period  of  English  history  when  the  poetic 
was  overborne  by  the  terribly  actual;  and  from 
its  associations  with  the  hero  Hereward,  the  last 
Englishman  who  resisted  the  Normans,  and  whom 
Kingsley  enshrined  in  his  romance,  which  his 
daughter-in-law  told  me  he  thought  more  of  than 
any  of  his  works,  and  breathed  into  it  an  indom- 
itable spirit  of  freedom.  An  English  gentleman, 
who  himself  claimed  descent  from  Hereward  and 
bore  his  name,  was  the  means  of  drawing  my 
attention  to  an  original  Latin  copy  of  Ingulph's 
"  Chronicle  of  Croyland  Abbey,"  belonging  to  a 
lover  of  old  books  in  Peterborough,  who  locked 
me  into  his  room,  near  the  Cathedral  Close,  while 
copying  certain  passages.  Ingulph's  Chronicle 
undoubtedly  contains   fragments  of   English  his- 


OLD   AND   NEW.  493 

tory,  though  evidently  colored  for  ecclesiastical 
purposes.  Interspersed  with  puerile  fable,  and  its 
authenticity  and  authorship  doubted  by  Sir  Fran- 
cis Palgrave  and  other  antiquarians,  this  Chroni- 
cle presents,  nevertheless,  a  graphic  picture  of  the 
growth  of  the  monastic  system  in  England  in  the 
time,  say,  from  800  to  1200  (Ingulph  was  made 
Abbot  of  Croyland  Abbey  in  1076,  and  his  history 
was  continued  by  another),  when  monasteries 
formed  an  important  part  of  the  "  social  machin- 
ery "  of  those  disordered  times,  moulding  the  rude 
mass  into  some  civilized  shape,  repressing  the  ten- 
dency to  lawless  violence,  teaching  the  art  of  til- 
lage, improving  the  breed  of  cattle  and  sheep  (the 
Cistercians  were  famous  for  their  horses),  caring 
for  the  poor,  and  constituting  a  home  for  learning 
and  such  of  the  arts  as  existed,  —  church  architec- 
ture and  music,  organ-building,  bell-founding,  glass- 
painting,  illumining  of  missals,  copying  of  Greek 
and  Latin  manuscripts,  and  the  writing  of  chron- 
icles or  histories  as  far  as  they  had  to  do  with  the 
church's  affairs ;  and  in  this  way  it  comes  about 
that  these  Anglia  Sacra  contain  much  profane 
history  and  other  matter.  For  example,  Geoffrey 
of  Monmouth's  monkish  chronicle  gave  Shake- 
speare "  King  Lear  ;  "  Geoffrey's  chronicle  also 
records  the  story  of  Arthur  and  the  legendary 
•period  of  English  history,  though,  indeed,  Ar- 
thur's great  victory  over  the  Saxons  at  Badon 
Hill  in  451  is  held  by  many  writers  to  be  not 
altogether  improbable ;  and  the  Venerable  Beda 


J. 
494  OLD   ENGLAND. 

furnishes  the  only  trustworthy  account  of  the  long 
wavering  struggle  between  Paganism  and  Chris- 
tianity in  the  middle  kingdoms,  in  the  time  of 
powerful  King  Penda.  The  abbots  who  governed 
these  monasteries  were  veritable  rulers  of  the 
people,  and  their  towns,  clustering  about  the  great 
abbeys  that  rose  like  mountains  in  the  midst,  were 
hardly  distinguishable  from  royal  burghs,  so  that 
the  people  sometimes  enjoyed  less  liberty  under 
their  sway  than  the  royal  burgesses  themselves* 
They  looked  keenly  after  their  revenues,  and,  in 
the  days  of  the  Conqueror,  the  Norman  bishops 
were  great  feudal  lords,  holding  their  possessions 
by  baronial  tenure. 

Leaving  Peterborough  and  its  Norman  cathe- 
dral, I  drove  through  the  fen-country,  crossing  the 
Ouse,  on  whose  bosom  once  were  crowded  the 
Danish  war-ships  at  the  sacking  of  the  "  Golden 
Borough,"  to  Crowland,  nine  miles  to  the  north  of 
Peterborough,  in  the  county  of  Lincoln  and  the 
borders  of  Northamptonshire,  situated  on  the  river 
Welland,  and  right  in  the  marshes.  Here,  as  In- 
gulph's  Chronicle  tells  us,  Guthlac,  one  of  the 
nobles  of  Ethelbald,  king  of  Mercia,  wishing  to 
withdraw  from  the  world,  allowed  his  boat  to 
float  along  wherever  the  wind  or  tide  bore  it,  and 
was  wafted  to  "  Crowland  Isle,"  on  which  he  built 
a  hut  and  lived  and  died  as  a  holy  hermit.  In 
honor  of  St.  Guthlac,  the  king  founded  here  in  716 
a  monastery,  and  endowed  it  splendidly  for  that 
day.     The  abbey  was  sacked  and  burned  by  the 


OLD   AND  NEW.  495 

Danes  (those    fierce  marauders  who    overran  six 
English    counties),  and    afterwards    was    burned 
several  times,  so  that  what  remains  of  it  does  not 
date  from  an  earlier  period  than  the  twelfth  cen- 
tury.    The  grand  nave  was  almost  altogether   de- 
stroyed in  1688,  since  which  time  the  north   aisle 
has  been  used  as  a  parish  church,  and  some  old 
things  and  Saxons  coffins  are  preserved  in  it ;  but 
even  this  part  of  the  structure  has  lost  its  sculp- 
tures, and  the  whole  has  been  fearfully  ravaged 
by  fire  and  war,  —  a  discrowned  pile !    Yet  its  frag- 
ments, which  are  but  a  fourth  part  of  what  it  once 
was,  —  the  massive  tower ;    the  gray  west  front, 
one  of  the  most  remarkable  in  England  for  its  rows 
of  statues  of  Norman  kings  and  bishops,  among 
which  St.  Guthlac,  holding  a  whip  and  treading  a 
fiend  underfoot,  is  prominent;  the  nave,  with  the 
arches  of  its  great  east  and  west  windows,  one  of 
them  a  thin  curve  suspended  as   by  magic   over 
empty  space, —  make  it  a  picture  of  dignified  decay. 
Within  the    arch  of  the  west  doorway  is  a  quatre- 
foil,  with  curious  little  carvings  in  each  of  its  lobes 
of  scenes  from  the  life  of  St.  Guthlac,  his  com- 
ing in  a  boat  to  Crowland  Isle,  his  temptation  by 
demons,  his  reception   of    King    Ethelbald  ;    and 
exquisite  bits  of  mouldings  and  capitals  lie  strewed 
about,  showing  the  former  glories  of  Crowland,  or 
Croyland,  Abbey  (crudam  terrain,  crude  or  muddy 
earth),  when  it  stretched  its  protecting  shadow  far 
over  the  fens  ;  and  here,  often,  rowed  Hereward, 
summoning  the  trembling   mouks  with  his   wild 


496  OLD   ENGLAND. 

horn,  and  with  shoutings  of  "  Hereward  is  come 
home  again !  "  Here  he  was  buried,  it  may  be  in 
one  of  the  Saxon  coffins  now  to  be  seen.  Hither 
Torfrida  came,  drawn  over  the  frozen  fens  in  a 
sledge  shod  with  beef-bones.  Abbot  Ingulph's 
Chronicle  reads  like  a  romance,  and  we  devoutly 
wish  it  were  true  :  — 

"  At  this  time  [1062]  Leofric,  a  person  of  high  lin- 
eage, illustrious  for  warlike  prowess  and  a  friend  of  our 
monastery,  by  his  wife  Ediva  [Godiva],  who  was  of  like 
noble  blood,  had  a  son,  Heward  [Hereward]  by  name, 
at  this  time  a  young  man  remarkable  for  his  strength 
of  body.  He  was  tall,  and  a  youth  of  singular  beauty 
but  too  fond  of  strife  and  a  spirit  uncontrolled  beyond 
expression.  In  sports  he  manifested  such  ardor  that '  his 
hand  was  against  every  man,  and  every  man's  hand  was 
against  him.'  The  consequence  was,  that  when  those 
of  similar  age  engaged  in  wrestling  and  other  such 
games,  if  he  could  not  triumph  over  them  all,  and  they 
did  not  give  him  the  crown,  he  would  obtain  with  the 
edge  of  the  sword  what  his  arm  did  not  win.  For 
this  reason  his  neighbors  made  complaints  against  him, 
and  so  greatly  did  they  provoke  his  father  that,  in  the 
bitterness  of  his  anger,  he  disclosed  these  youthful 
pranks  to  King  Edward  and  procured  his  outlawry.  .  .  . 
This  most  valiant  youth  first  repaired  to  Northumbria, 
then  to  Cornwall,  thence  to  Ireland,  and  afterwards 
to  Flanders  ;  and.  everywhere  behaving  with  the  great- 
est bravery,  in  a  short  time  acquired  a  glorious  name, 
so  that  the  feelings  of  his  father  and  mother  and  fel- 
low-countrymen towards  him  were  changed  into  those 
of  warm  affection.  .  .  .  When  the  earls  above  named 
were   making  resistance  to  King  William,  holding  pos- 


OLD   AND  NEW.  497 

session,  together  with  many  other  nobles  who  were 
similarly  disinherited,  of  the  fens,  they  sent  a  speedy 
messenger  to  fetch  Heward,  on  whose  arrival  he  was 
made  leader  in  the  warfare  and  chief  of  the  forces ; 
upon  which  he  performed  so  many  glorious  exploits, 
was  so  often  victorious  over  his  foes,  eluded  them  on 
so  many  occasions,  that  he  earned  lasting  praise,  be- 
cause he  upheld  his  falling  country  as  long  as  he  could, 
and  did  not  permit  his  countrymen  to  go  unrevenged  to 
the  shades  below.  The  rest  of  the  noblemen,  surrender- 
ing themselves  to  the  king,  endeavored  to  gain  favor, 
while  he  was  the  only  one  who  utterly  refused  to  do 
so,  adopting  ever  some  new  scheme." 

It  might  be  well  to  add  to  the  above  quotation 
from  the  Chronicle,  that  John  Richard  Green,  in 
his  "  History  of  the  English  People,"  says  :  "  Wil- 
liam met  with  a  more  obstinate  resistance  from 
Hei'eward  than  he  encountered  anywhere  else  in 
England." 

The  tough  Norman  knight,  Ivo  Taillebois,  who 
has  so  large  a  place  in  Kingsley's  story,  figures 
in  Ingulph's  narration  as  a  cruel  thorn  in  his 
side,  persecuting  his  monks,  despoiling  the  mon- 
astery and  stealing  its  lands,  tremendously 
thrashed  by  Hereward,  and  entombed  at  last  in 
Spalding  Priory,  "  with  some  little  sorrow  of: 
his  wife,  but  loud  exultations  of  his  neighbors." 
We  are  delighted  to  discover  that  plumbing  was 
the  cause  of  the  destruction  of  the  abbey  (a 
plumber's  stove  being  upset  on  the  roof),  and  was 
an  old  as  well  as  modern  source  of  trouble.     In- 


498  OLD  ENGLAND. 

gulph's  own  adventures,  escapes,  and  agonies  during 
the  great  fire  are  too  vividly  personal  to  be  entirely 
untrue.  In  his  chronicle  we  have  also  the  story 
of  the  death  of  William  Rufus  in  New  Forest,  and 
an  unqualified  testimony  is  given  to  its  being  "  un- 
witting "  on  the  part  of  Walter  Tirel.  The  earth- 
quake of  1118  is  magniloquently  described  :  — 

"  The  tower  of  Milan  Cathedral  was  shook  to  the 
ground,  and  the  roof  of  the  church  of  Croyland,  being 
new  work,  was  split  asunder,  shocking  to  relate !  and 
the  southern  wall  thereof,  with  horrible  yawnings,  would 
have  fallen  had  not  the  carpenters  bound  it  together 
with  beams  laid  transversely." 

There  is  likewise  a  record  of  the  grand  coun- 
cil held  by  Earl  John,  afterwards  King  John,  in 
his  brother  Richard's  absence,  in  relation  to  the 
claims  of  John  and  one  of  his  barons  to  lands  of 
the  abbey,  to  which  council  the  Abbot  of  Croy- 
land was  summoned,  and  in  which  he  produced 
the  royal  father's  charter  setting  forth  the  monas- 
tery's rights  to  the  marsh-land,  whereupon  John 
"  blushed  for  very  shame ;"  but  in  the  whole 
transaction  there  is  reason  to  suspect  considerable 
sharp  practice  on  the  part  of  the  abbot  himself, 
not  only  in  bribing  the  covetous  John,  but  in  re- 
gard to  certain  letters,  obtained  from  Richard  in 
his  captivity,  going  to  establish  the  claim  of  the 
abbey  to  its  beloved  marsh.  The  violent  contro- 
versy between  Henry  de  Longchamp,  abbot  of 
Croyland,  and  Simon,  prior  of  Spalding,  regarding 
the  "common  of  pasture  in  the  marshes  of  Croy- 


OLD  AND  NEW.  499 

land,  Spalding,  Pinchbeck,  Langtoft,  Baston,  and 
Deyping,"  which  lie  about  the  western  side  of  the 
river  Welland,  is  feelingly  narrated,  showing  there 
could  be  anger  in  heavenly  minds.  The  humble 
life  of  the  holy  "  Abbot  Thomas  "  is  a  more  edify- 
ing chapter;  but  even  of  him  it  is  said :  "  He  did 
not  spend  his  time  in  idleness,  and  in  neglecting  to 
perform  the  works  of  goodness,  for  he  was  always 
strenuously  exerting  himself  in  increasing  the  pos- 
sessions of  his  church."  The  latter  half  of  the 
chronicle,  by  another  hand,  is  fuller  of  fable  and  va- 
ticination, relating,  for  instance,  at  length,  the  story 
of  one  John  Wayle,  who  unworthily  offered  him- 
self as  a  partaker  of  the  holy  communion,  and  who 
was  tormented  by  an  evil  spirit  and  by  the  monks, 
who,  having  bound  him  to  a  pillar  in  the  church, 
performed  all  manner  of  exorcisms  over  him,  and, 
finally,  being  dragged  with  ropes  to  the  tomb 
of  the  blessed  Guthlac,  he  was  restored  and  saved. 
In  a  certain  year  there  were  seen  in  the  heavens 

"  Three  suns,  and  a  rain  of  blood.  This  latter  came 
down  in  a  manner  like  a  gentle  shower.  Besides  this, 
horsemen  and  men  in  armor  were  observed  rushing 
through  the  air  ;  so  much  so  that  Saint  George,  conspic- 
uous with  the  red  cross,  his  usual  banner,  and  attended 
by  a  vast  throng  of  armed  men,  appeared  visibly  to 
great  numbers,  who  were  subjected  to  rigorous  examina- 
tion by  the  venerable  Thomas,  the  Lord  Archbishop  of 
Canterbury,"  — 

which  sounds  like  a  legend  of  Spain  instead  of 
England.     The  same  chronicle  gives  us  the  fami- 


500  OLD  ENGLAND. 

liar  story  of  King  Alfred's  playing  the  disguised 
minstrel  in  the  Danish  camp,  and  of  his  wax 
tapers  and  literary  labors,  and  transcribes  many  of 
his  wise  laws.  But  who  could  have  dreamed  that 
the  wise  King  Alfred  would  have  written  so  satiric 
a  verse  as  this  !  — 

"  Many  a  man  singeth 
That  a  wife  home  bringeth : 
If  he  knew  what  he  brought, 
Weep  he  ought." 

I  make  but  one  more  quotation  from  the  history 
of  the  worthy  Ingulphus :  — 

"  At  this  period  the  venerable  father,  Abbot  Wulgat, 
seeing  the  scarcity  of  food,  and  that  his  sons  the  monks^ 
who  before  his  arrival  had  been  refreshed  with  dainties, 
were  now  feeding  on  an  inferior  kind  of  bread  and  small 
fish  caught  in  the  river,  sighed  deeply  and  grieved  ex- 
ceedingly that  he  had  '  multiplied  the  nation  and  not  in- 
creased the  joy,'  and  he  deliberately  consulted  with  his 
brethren,  what  steps  ought  to  be  taken  in  this  most  immi- 
nent peril." 

The  odd  triangular  stone  bridge  in  the  market- 
place of  Crowland,  that  strides  with  its  three  legs 
over  dry  earth,  with  its  battered  archaic  statue, 
would  seem  formerly  to  have  been  a  footway  over 
the  junction  of  two  streams  running  at  right  angles, 
showing  an  economy  of  design  in  engineering 
doubtless  belonging  to  the  architectural  plan  of  the 
abbey,  though  now  at  some  distance  from  its 
ruins.  My  driver  aided  me  in  comprehending  the 
geography  of  the  amphibious  region  where  land 
and  water    so  intermingle,  and  in  the  otherwise 


OLD   AND  NEW.  501 

unvaried  drive  from  and  to  Peterborough,  he 
entertained  me  with  his  talk  about  the  noble 
and  wealthy  landlords  (descendants  of  Ivo  Tail- 
lebois,  for  aught  I  know)  of  Spalding,  Deyping, 
Peakick,  and  Stilton.  The  road  was  embroidered 
with  crimson  poppies  and  a  marvelous  abundance 
of  flowers  and  tangled  weeds  of  every  hue,  while 
the  gigantic  mass  of  the  gray  old  abbey  lingered 
long  in  the  distance  on  the  flat  horizon. 

Croyland  Abbey  is  at  present  but  a  solitary 
fragment,  whose  tottering  walls  need  propping  or 
they  will  soon  tumble  down,  which  would  be  a 
great  pity.  It  is  not  at  all  comparable  with 
Furness  Abbey,  which  is  on  the  west  coast ;  but 
before  speaking  of  that,  I  would  say  a  word  of 
one  or  two  other  places  on  this  eastern  shore,  and 
the  first  of  them  is  Beverley,  near  the  foot  of  the 
Wolds.  Beverley  is  182  miles  from  London,  and 
a  good  way  north  on  this  small  island.  As  I 
landed  from  the  swift-rushing  North  Eastern  Rail- 
way train,  nothing  could  be  more  quiet  than  the 
town  itself,  though,  like  a  Spanish  town,  its  carved 
coats-of-armsshow  ancientpride  (here  reigned  "  old 
King  Coil "  of  happy  memory)  ;  and  nothing  could 
be  more  charming  than  the  interior  of  the  minster, 
with  its  stone  roof  and  magnificent  choir-work. 
It  is  next  to  the  large  cathedrals  in  size,  and  supe- 
rior to  some  of  them  in  harmonious  elegance,  and 
is,  in  some  points,  unique..  Like  the  cathedral  of 
Bourges,  in  France,  it  has  an  organic  unity  that 
moulds  all  into  one  perfect  whole.     Its  front  has 


fc02  OLD  ENGLAND. 

tiers  on  tiers  of  tabernacle  work,  shooting  up 
into  two  towers  that  end  in  delicate  pinnacles. 
The  west  window  literally  fills  the  middle  por- 
tion of  the  front  with  intricate  tracery,  and  its 
lovely  marigold  windows  are,  I  believe,  quite 
unlike  in  their  pattern  to  any  others.  I  was  as- 
tonished (having  just  come  from  studying  the 
great  French  churches)  by  the  rhythmic  beauty  of 
the  nave  of  Beverley  minster,  its  arches  spring- 
ing so  boldly  from  clusters  of  cylindrical  pillars, 
combining  solidity  with  lightness.  A  double-arched 
triforium  is  a  dainty  feature,  the  inner  arch  of 
which  is  quatrefoil  and  the  outer  trefoil ;  and  other 
avcades  with  ogee  arches  are  decorated  with  luxu- 
riant running  foliage  ending  in  flower  finials,  and 
intermixed  with  figures  of  angels  playing  upon 
musical  instruments,  —  you  can  hear  them ;  for 
great  size  is  not  always  needful  for  harmonious 
effect,  but  there  is  music  in  lines  appealing  solely  to 
the  eye.  Beverley  minster  and  St.  Mary's  church 
(two  gems  in  dull  settings),  and  their  glorious  tra- 
ceried  windows,  are  among  the  purest  examples  of 
the  Decorated  Gothic  in  England.  In  St.  Mary's, 
I  remember,  preparations  for  a  wedding  ceremony 
filled  the  chancel  with  banks  of  tall  white  lilies, 
white  roses,  and  other  flowers,  so  that  the  carven 
flowery  stonework  was  well  matched  by  the  living 
flowers  that  met  and  carried  out  the  blossoming 
richness  of  the  architectural  idea. 

A  fine  example,  also,  of  the  mingled  Decorated 
and  Perpendicular  is  St.  Botolph's  Church,  in  Bos- 


OLD  AND   NEW.  503 

ton,  which  I  saw  a  day  or  two  later  on ;  Boston 
is  also  on  its  bay,  like  our  Boston — think  of  it! 
The  interior  of  this  church,  and  its  timber-roof  and 
rows  of  high  clere-story  windows  and  curious 
wood  carvings,  will  repay  the  student.  But  Boston 
and  its  crowded-together,  red-tiled  roofs  in  flat 
Lincolnshire  is  as  unlike  Boston  on  its  three  hills 
in  Massachusetts  as  two  cities  well  could  be%yet  it 
has  claims  to  attention  besides  its  church,  in  whose 
pulpit  John  Cotton  preached,  and  whose  paneled 
octagon  spire  lifts  itself  to  the  height  of  three  hun- 
dred feet  seen  over  the  fen  -  lands.  Its  Saxon 
saint  Botolph  should  take  the  fair  American 
city  under  his  wing,  and  not  allow  it  to  be  en- 
tirely given  over  to  Celtic  or  Celestial  invaders, 
as  the  English  town  was  to  the  raven-bannered 
Danes ;  at  all  events,  the  reflected  light  of  some- 
thing greater  and  more  famous  of  which  it  is 
the  namesake  is  cast  back  upon  this  respectable 
English  seaport  of  twenty  thousand  inhabitants, 
which  will  continue  to  be  visited  by  sons  of  the 
Pilgrims.  But  I  must  not  forget  Furness  Abbey, 
that  has  some  points  of  resemblance  to  Croyland, 
though  its  ruins  are  infinitely  more  extensive  and 
beautiful. 

I  have  a  passion  for  ruins  (if  they  are  poetic), 
and  I  have  sometimes  asked  myself  what  is  the 
explanation  of  the  charm  of  ruins  ?  Mr.  Ruskin, 
it  is  said,  will  not  come  to  this  country  because 
there  are  no  old  castles  here  so  beautiful  in  their 
decay.     Ruins  appeal  entirely  to  the  imagination* 


O04  OLD   ENGLAND. 

They  have  nothing  else.  They  are,  in  this  respect, 
genuine  poems.  Setting  aside  their  aesthetic  power, 
they  speak  of  what  no  longer  exists.  They  awaken 
no  troublesome  thoughts,  no  k' burning  ques- 
tions," except  of  their  own  burning.  The  people 
who  lived  in  them  are  ghosts,  and  terrible  as  their 
misfortunes  may  have  been,  it  is  like  the  pleasing 
horror  of  tragedy,  though  milder,  for  they  leave 
us  to  fill  up  the  human  picture  as  we  choose. 
The  pensive  shadow  of  death  grows  poetic  in- 
stead of  painful  under  the  crumbling  arches  that 
have  no  use  now,  and  through  the  long  hollow 
spaces  where  the  rain  and  leaves  fall  unheeded. 

I  saw  Furness  Abbey  on  an  English  summer  day 
of  rain  and  shine,  with  magnificent  clouds  piling 
up  and  floating  as  full-sailed  argosies  across  the 
blue  sky,  making  a  lovely  chiaroscuro  among  those 
massive  fragments  of  buildings  that  covered  eight 
acres,  and  are  still  firm  and  mantled  thickly 
with  ivy  and  parasite  vines.  They  stand  at  the 
end  of  the  peninsula,  between  the  mouth  of  Dud- 
don  River  and  Morecambe  Bay,  six  miles  from 
Ulverston,  and  are  situated  in  the  "  Vale  of  the 
Deadly  Nightshade."  Furness  Abbey's  seal  was 
the  Virgin  Mary,  to  whom  the  monastery  was  ded- 
icated, and  on  each  side  of  her  were  the  royal  arms 
of  England,  over  which  hung  bunches  of  night- 
shade. Gloom  and  solitude  were  thereby  conveyed, 
and  the  narrow  valley  with  its  melancholy  name 
promoted  meditation.  But  it  is  now  a  carefully 
kspt  ruin  belonging  to  the  Duke  of  Devonshire, 


OLD  AND  NEW.  505 

and  was  once  a  lordly  establishment  of  the  Cister- 
cian or  Bernardine  monks,  second  only  to  Foun- 
tains Abbey,  though  I  give  preference  to  Fountains 
for  solid  and  incomparable  grandeur  ;  but  Furness 
has  a  warmer  color  from  its  deep  red  sandstone. 
The  abbey  held  in  dominion  a  broad  territory, 
embracing  the  region  about  Lake  Windermere  and 
landed  rights  in  other  parts  of  the  kingdom,  and 
was  noted  for  its  agricultural  and  pastoral  wealth  ; 
so  that  when  the  enormous  ransom-price  of  King 
Richard  was  generously  paid  by  the  English  peo- 
ple, one  of  the  contributions  came  from  the  Cister- 
cians, and  was  raised  by  them  from  the  sale  of  wool. 
Though  founded  by  Stephen  in  1127  (his  head 
and  Matilda's  are  sculptured  on  the  east  wall),  its 
historic  interest  is  not  so  great  as  that  of  Croyland, 
though  it,  too,  carried  on  an  embittered  fight  for 
precedence  with  Waverley  Abbey,  and  they  divided 
the  honors  and  spoils.  It  had  also  its  affiliations 
with  religious  houses  in  Ireland,  which  was  always 
a  devout  land.  The  abbot  had  at  his  command 
an  army  of  knights  and  spearmen  ;  yet  this  and 
other  monasteries  were,  in  the  main,  beneficent  in- 
stitutions, and  were  on  the  side  of  peace,  industry, 
and  religion  ;  and  at  this  day  history  seems  to  re- 
peat itself,  and  religious  buildings  are  beginning  to 
be  like  those  ancient  closes,  or  conventual  houses, 
combining  chapel,  refectory,  kitchen,  dormitory, 
guest-hall,  and  all  the  conveniences  of  common  life, 
wilh  the  idea  that  accompanies  such  comprehen- 
sive institutions,  that  Christianity  is  responsible 


50G  OLD   ENGLAND. 

for  the  moral  and  physical  as  well  as  religious 
well-being  of  the  whole  community.  The  hun- 
dreds of  "  white  monks"  that  peopled  this  sweet 
vale  were  not  all  lazy  drones,  but  worked  with 
their  hands  to  sow  the  fields,  minister  to  the 
sick,  and  exercise  the  rites  of  hospitality.  All 
broken  up  and  brought  to  naught  in  a  day  by  the 
stamp  of  Henry  VIII.'s  foot !  Three  hundred  and 
seventy-six  monasteries,  among  them  Furness 
Abbey,  which  had  existed  413  years,  were  confis- 
cated at  one  stroke  by  the  bill  commencing,  "  For- 
asmuch as  manifest  synne,  vicious,  carnal,  and 
abominable  living  is  dayly  used  and  committed 
commonly  in  such  Abbeys,  Priories,  and  other 
Religious  Houses  of  Monks,  Canons,"  and  so  on  ; 
and  their  property  went  into  the  royal  strong-box, 
and  the  ruins  only  are  left  to  tell  the  story  of  the 
good  and  evil  they  did.  The  monks  did  some 
things  well.  They  built  well  ;  and  their  secret 
disappeared  with  them.  They  inspired  the  people 
to  become  creative  artists,  l-ousing  the  entire  pop- 
ulace to  the  pious  work.  Enthusiasts  were  they, 
and  every  great  work  of  art  is  unconscious  work 
springing  from  the  deepest  spirit  of  the  people. 
Why  did  they  make  the  lofty  east  and  west 
windows  of  Furness  Abbey  church  fifty  feet  high 
and  half  as  many  broad,  that  now,  jagged  and 
weed-fringed,  let  in  all  the  winds  that  blow,  but 
were  once  so  splendid  with  many-colored  lights? 
They  thought  to  build  a  house  for  God,  to  be  his 
foundation   and    dwelling,    constant   and  firm  as 


OLD  AND  NEW.  507 

the  everlasting  hills,  and  not  merely  for  man's 
occasional  worship  and  convenience,  as  is  the  mod- 
ern idea  of  church  architecture.  This  almost  in- 
finite conception  of  the  building  admitted  of  vast 
scope  and  magnificence  of  plan,  and  endless  beauty 
of  detail  and  elaboration.  The  various  sections  of 
the  Furness  Abbey  church,  the  chancel,  choir,  and 
nave,  with  the  side-chapels  on  the  east  end,  are 
now  easily  traced,  and  the  chancel  is  particularly 
noticeable  with  the  remains  of  very  beautiful 
stone  sedilia,  in  niches  highly  sculptured  and  sep- 
arated by  exquisitely  pierced  screens,  and  over  the 
top  of  each  seat  is  a  rich  canopy  of  ogee  mould- 
ing, and  this  surmounted  by  flower-work.  The 
choir,  cloisters,  fratry,  chapter-house,  guest-hall, 
and  what  was  once  the  abbot's  house  remain, 
though  in  ruins:  the  arches  broken  at  their  spring, 
the  roofs  gone,  the  delicate  bar-tracery  swept 
away  ;  the  work  of  the  giants  left,  but  that  of  the 
dwarfs  gone.  But  nothing  about  it  is  so  superb  as 
the  three  grand  round-headed  Norman  doorways 
leading  from  the  cloisters  into  the  chapter-house, 
ornamented  with  rope-like  concentric  rings  and 
the  dog's-tooth  moulding  ;  a  strong  design,  strongly 
carried  out;  virile  like  the  Norman  architecture 
that  would  not  give  way  to  the  refinements  of  the 
pointed  arch;  uninjured  and  meant  to  last,  and 
standing  just  as  they  did  when  priest,  noble,  and 
king  passed  through  them  to  the  council  chamber. 
]n  fact,  these  great  abbeys  themselves  illustrate 
better  than  almost  anything  that  has  come  down 


508  OLD   ENGLAND. 

to  us  the  characteristic  Norman  period  of  Eng- 
lish history,  when  England  and  Normandy  were 
under  one  ruler,  when  arts  and  letters  in  Eng- 
land came  from  Normandy  and  France,  and  es- 
pecially architecture,  —  the  days  of  the  great  prel- 
ates Lanfranc  and  Anselm,  Thomas  Becket  and 
Stephen  Langton,  when  the  church  strove  for 
supreme  power  with  the  king,  but  could  never 
quite  subdue  to  its  purposes  the  proud,  masterful, 
all-grasping  spirit  of  the  Norman  line  of  monarchs, 
and  this,  in  the  long  run,  was  helpful  to  the  cause 
of  popular  liberty. 

Of  the  English  monasteries  that  I  have  seen  I 
would  characterize  Fountains  Abbey  for  majesty  ; 
Croyland  for  historic  romance  and  the  associations 
of  English  freedom ;  Tintern  for  architectural 
beauty,  quite  perfect ;  Bolton  for  poetry  of  art 
and  nature  ;  Netley  for  grace  ;  Glastonbury  for 
religious  antiquity  and  solemn  grandeur,  going 
back  to  England's  earliest  Christianity;  and  Fur- 
ness  for  magnificence  of  plan  and  glowing  color. 
When,  shortly  after,  I  revisited  Fountains  Abbey, 
I  was  sorry  to  observe  that  the  old  yew-tree, 
which  seemed  to  be  created  to  last  forever,  looked 
more  decayed  than  when  I  first  saw  it,  and  could 
not  compare  with  a  yew-tree  at  Darley-dale  in 
Derbyshire,  six  hundred,  if  not  a  thousand,  years 
old,  and  thirty-four  feet  in  girth,  and  which,  a 
little  way  up,  divides  itself  int<  two  mighty  masses, 
dark,  impenetrable,  solid  as  a  rock  and  with  som- 
bre foliage,  the  ancient  stone  church  beside  it  an 
infant  in  age  comjDared  with  it. 


OLD  AND  NEW.  509 

I  would  speak  of  another  interesting  excursion, 
made  out  of  London,  to  the  famous  field  of  Run- 
nimede,  which  historic  spot  I  had  determined  to 
visit  if  I  ever  went  again  to  England.  Runnimede 
is  about  an  hour's  ride  on  the  railway  from  Water- 
loo Station  through  Putney,  Richmond,  Twicken- 
ham, Staines,  and  Egham  on  the  road  to  Windsor. 
At  Egham  I  found  a  shackly  old  carriage,  and 
drove  by  what  is  called  the  "  low  road  "  along  the 
Thames  through  "  Bell  Weir  Lock,"  coming  to 
the  "  Meadow  of  Council,"  at  this  time  overflowed 
and  half  under  water,  where  the  barons  encamped, 
amd  where  on  the  15th  of  June,  1215,  King  John 
signed  Magna  Charta.  A  little  gray  stone  house 
on  Magna  Charta  Island,  now  a  private  gentle- 
man's villa,  is  said  to  cover  the  identical  stone  upon 
which  John  signed  the  charter.  The  whole  looked 
like  a  green  amphitheatre  closed  in,  where  a  host 
might  encamp  and  be  shut  off  from  the  rest  of  the 
world,  and  as  if  made  for  the  transaction  of  some 
important  historical  event,  the  tree-shadowed  and 
flower-edged  Thames  brimming  full  and  cutting  its 
way  through,  here  a  clear  stream.  Situated  in  a 
bend  of  the  river  with  low  swelling  green  hills  on 
one  side  and  densely  wooded  banks  on  the  other, 
I  was  struck  with  the  reposeful  beauty  of  the  spot 
from  which,  as  if  from  this  quiet  heart  of  the 
country,  a  deep  thought  of  freedom  had  emanated 
that  influenced  the  land.  It  is  true  that  here  was 
not  the  fountain-head  of  constitutional  freedom  in 
England,  and  that  there  were  other  charters,  as,  for 


510  OLD   ENGLAND. 

example,  that  which  was  given  by  Henry  I.,  which 
formed  the  basis  of  Magna  Charta,  and  which 
also  confirmed  the  elective  nature  of  English 
monarchy,  restrained  oppressive  feudal  claims, 
moderated  the  national  tax,  allowed  the  rights  of 
land  tenants,  protected  the  poor  and  widows,  and 
reinforced  wholesome  old  Saxon  principles  of  civil 
law ;  but,  at  Runnimede,  these  things  were  con- 
firmed to  be  incorporated  into  English  law  once 
for  all ;  and  here  too  the  barons,  who  were  by 
this  time  nearly  English  in  feeling  and  in  blood, 
were  led  to  make  common  cause  with  the  common 
people,  securing  to  them  also  the  same  rights  they 
secured  to  themselves,  thus  moulding  together  the 
different  classes  of  society,  and  laying  the  founda- 
tions of  a  limited  monarchy  and  a  free,  and,  in 
the  aggregate,  republican,  constitution  of  the  na- 
tion. 

While  I  was  in  London,  the  celebration  of  the 
two  hundredth  anniversary  of  Alexander  Pope's 
birthday  took  place,  and  I  made  a  little  trip 
to  Twickenham,  on  the  same  Windsor  Road,  and 
went  to  see  Pope's  villa,  or  the  spot  where  the  villa 
stood,  on  the  Thames,  and  the  rock-grot  that  still 
exists  which  he  constructed  (artificial  like  him- 
self), and  where  doubtlese  his  great  London  friends, 
Frederick  Prince  of  Wales,  and  Lord  Peterbor- 
ough and  many  other  celebrities  and  wits,  had  sat, 
and  where  he  talked  over  with  Bolingbroke  the 
"  Essay  on  Man,"  whose  philosophy  was  Boling- 
broke's,  but  whose  exquisite  style  was  his  own. 


OLD   AND   NEW.  511 

Some  old  trees  stand  in  the  lawn  which  may  have 
shaded  him,  for  he  loved  the  shade  —  "a  crooked 
mind  in  a  crooked  body."  The  collection  of  Pope's 
autograph  manuscripts  and  letters,  portraits  and 
personal  relics,  in  a  room  in  the  Town  Hall,  gave 
me  a  more  vivid  conception  of  his  singular  per- 
sonality than  I  had  ever  had.  Though  the  greatest 
poet  of  the  Augustan  age,  his  genius  lacked  the 
original  force  of  Swift,  and  was  keen  rather  than 
strong,  French  rather  than  English,  loving  to  travel 
along:  the  smooth  ckaussee  of  rule  and  metre,  be- 
longing  more  to  the  school  of  Boileau  and  Racine 
than  of  Shakespeare,  or  even  Dryden,  whose  suc- 
cessor he  was  ambitious  to  be;  and  yet  that  little 
deformed  son  of  a  London  linen-draper  was  the 
feared  and  courted  friend  of  the  highest  princes 
and  statesmen  of  the  land. 

Another  trip,  this  time  in  a  "  hansom,"  was 
to  see  Thomas  Carlyle's  house  on  Cheyne  Row, 
Chelsea,  and  I  found  it  to  be  a  brick  house,  three 
little  windows  wide,  crowded  between  two  larger 
houses,  and  the  street  itself  narrow  and  humble,  a 
sort  of  passageway  between  greater  thoroughfares. 
It  is  now  painted  a  smart  red  color,  and  re-fur- 
bished with  flower-boxes  and  yellow  porcelain 
swans  on  the  sills  of  the  lower  windows ;  not  at  all 
the  grave,  old-fashioned  house  that  Carlyle  de- 
scribes, as  he  was  driven  there  and  set  down,  dis- 
consolate, with  his  boxes  of  books.  A  bas-relief 
profile  of  Carlyle's  face  is  carved  upon  a  slab  at 
the  head  of  the  street ;  and  a  bronze  sitting  fig- 


512  OLD   ENGLAND. 

ure  in  a  kind  of  long  dressing-gown  stands  in  the 
little  park  overlooking  the  walk  along  the  river 
with  its  constantly  shifting  scene.  I  looked 
through  Carlyle's  house  into  the  garden  in  the 
rear  though  I  did  not  enter  it  —  a  small  patch 
of  nature  truly  in  the  brick-desert  of  London, 
when  we  think  of  Carlyle's  own  words :  "  All 
that  I  do  best  is  when  I  am  forgotten  of  men 
and  there  is  nothing  above  or  around  me  but  the 
impenetrable  heaven."  Yet,  doubtless,  he  enjoyed 
his  thoughts  better  than  we  may  suppose,  for  he 
knew  that  behind  a  gloomy  face  and  cynic  hu- 
mor he  hid  a  large  trust  in  God  and  hope  for  man, 
and  knew  that  sooner  or  later  men  would  find 
this  out. 

Coming,  as  I  did,  directly  to  London  from  Paris 
and  its  Salon,  the  summer  exhibitions  in  London 
naturally  provoked  a  comparison  between  English, 
and  French  pictures,  and  not  altogether  favorable 
to  the  former,  since  the  Parisian  school  represents 
the  best  art  of  to-day,  preserving  the  traditions  of 
classic  painting  and  representing  an  advance  on 
the  side  of  naturalistic  art  as  seen  in  such  paint- 
ers as  Rousseau,  Daubigny,  Corot,  and  Millet  in 
landscape,  who  have  infused  new  life  into  their 
art  by  going  once  more  to  nature,  though  inter, 
preting  it  by  the  action  of  their  own  thought.  Of 
course  the  hideous  extravagances  of  the  extreme 
realistic  French  school  I  do  not  speak  of  ;  yet  I 
did  not  see  in  recent  English  art,  in  its  drawing 


OLD   AND  NEW*  513 

or  coloring,  what  could  compare  with  the  French 
technique  and  knowledge  ;  and  in  nature  itself, 
the  strong  point  of  English  painting,  there  seemed 
lack  of  vigor  ;  but  the  "  New  Gallery  "  contained 
some  pictures  of  remarkable  quality.  The  por- 
traits by  Holl,  whose  last  works  showed  the  in- 
spiring influence  of  his  study  of  Velasquez,  also 
portraits  by  Ward  and  Herkomer,  and  a  pro- 
foundly thoughtful,  if  not  great,  painting  of  a 
death  -  angel,  by  Watts,  now  an  old  man,  and, 
above  all,  three  pictures  by  Burne-Jones,  two  of 
them  of  the  Perseus-myth,  prove  that  there  are 
still  original  individuality  and  creative  power  in 
English  genius.  I  went  out  to  Bushey  Heath, 
through  Harrow,  to  see  Mr.  Hubert  Herkomer,  a 
genial  and  handsome  man,  who  spoke  of  his  visit 
to  Yale  University  and  his  interest  in  America,  re- 
marking that  in  our  country  he  first  conceived  the 
thought  of  making  money,  —  a  person  oi  endless 
though  objective  energy,  who  is  building  a  castle, 
as  he  said,  with  "  the  three  fingers  of  his  right 
hand."  The  carpentering,  mason- work,  iron -work, 
fresco-ornamentation,  and  wood-carving  are  done 
on  his  own  grounds,  for  he  is  aiming,  like  Peter 
Vischer,  or  some  master  of  the  Middle  Ages,  to 
rear  a  school  of  universal  workers  in  art. 

Of  a  very  different  character  (because  the  men 
are  so  different)  was  my  visit,  by  his  courteous 
invitation,  to  Burne-Jones,  at  the  "  Grange,"  a 
small  secluded  house  once  owned  by  Richardson 
the  novelist,  in  West'  Kensington,  London,  but  now 


514  OLD   ENGLAND. 

the  home,  one  would  say,  of  a  poet,  of  a  retiring, 
shy  man  with  a  face  of  deep  reflection  and  singu- 
lar gentleness  and  sweetness.  In  his  studio  at  the 
bottom  of  a  neat  shut-in  lawn  he  showed  me  his 
other  great  pictures  of  the  Perseus  series,  and  the 
"  Sleeping  Knights  in  the  Enchanted  Wood," 
and  some  sketches  of  pictures  which,  he  said, 
would  take  him  the  rest  of  his  life  to  complete. 
The  beautiful  faces  of  the  knights  and  the  gleam 
of  their  blue  armor,  as  in  the  Perseus  pictures,  with 
fresh  enchanting  creations  in  every  line,  tell  us 
that  there  is  a  new  master  arisen.  Burne-Jones  is 
classed  among  the  Neo-Greek  school,  but  he  belongs 
more  to  the  Romantic  than  to  the  Greek  ;  his  out- 
lines are  fine  and  clear  as  steel,  like  the  Italian  mas- 
ters Francesco  Francia,  Sasso  Ferrato,  and  ear- 
lier painters.  His  color,  however,  is  less  marked, 
and  perhaps  wanting  in  depth,  dealing  in  modi- 
fied tints,  cool  grays,  and  light  blues  and  yellows, 
but  marvelous  in  effect  with  such  small  effort  at 
brilliance,  appealing  to  a  subjective  sense,  to  the 
poetic  rather  than  the  sensuous.  His  nude,  as  in 
the  Andromeda,  is  noble  and  delicate  but  not 
Greek  —  it  has  a  Gothic  chasteness.  He  lives  in 
the  world  of  ideas  and  not  the  real  one,  but  he 
opens  to  us  the  enchanted  fields,  and  he  belongs 
to  the  great  line  of  English  poets  whose  genius  is 
even  more  creative  than  the  Greek,  of  Chaucer, 
Shakespeare,  Edmund  Spenser,  Shelley,  perhaps 
Browning  and  Tennyson,  who  can  make  new 
worlds  be  it  on  British  or  Hellenic  soil,  so  that 


OLD  AND  NEW.  515 

from  this  reason  rather  than  any  drawn  from 
trade  or  political  economy,  valuable  as  these  are, 
the  English  will  ever  be  an  invincible  race,  hav- 
ing the  power  to  renew  their  life  and  purify 
their  strong  materialistic  tendency  by  returning 
to  the  fresh  high  springs  of  the  imagination. 


APPENDIX. 


(Page  138.) 

I  have  made  the  statement  that  "  England  is  divided 
up  chiefly  among  twenty  or  thirty  great  families."  This 
needs  re-statement  and  correction.  It  is,  indeed,  so  im- 
portant a  point  that  I  would  desire  to  speak  of  it  more 
at  length.  There  are,  it  is  true,  some  twenty-eight 
great  ducal  families  that  have,  as  a  rule,  vast  estates, 
but  by  the  careful  tables  given  in  Broderick's  "  English 
Land  and  Landlords,"  I  find  that  in  1880  within  the 
whole  United  Kingdom  there  were  28  dukes  owning 
3.991,811  acres;  33  marquises  owning  1,567,227  acres; 
194  earls  owning  5,862,118  acres;  and  270  viscounts 
and  barons  owning  3,780,009  acres.  Many  of  these 
lar>re  estates  are  found  in  the  wildest  and  most  desolate 
parts  of  the  country,  and  consequently  are  of  small 
value  in  proportion  to  their  size;  e.  g.,  the  estate  of  the 
Duke  of  Sutherland  in  Sutherland,  1,176,494  acres, 
which  bring  in  scarcely  any  net  revenue. 

In  England  (proper)  and  Wales  estates  of  moderate 
size  prevail,  as  may  be  seen  by  the  following  table, 
taken  from  the  above  treatise ;  and  in  which  it  may  be 
perceived,  from  the  tabulated  view  of  the  estates  of  no- 
blemen, their  wives  and  eldest  sons,  that  only  about  one 
sixth  of  the  land  of  England  and  "Wales  is  in  the  hands 
of  the  nobility. 


618  APPENDIX. 

No.  Acreage. 

Peers  and  peeresses  and  their  eldest  sons        .          400  5,720,979 

Owners  of  above  — 

3,000  acres 1,288  8,497,699 

Between  3,000  and  1,000      .        .        .          2,529  4,319,271 

Between  1,000  and  300    .        .        .        .      9,585  4,782,627 

Between  300  and  100  .         .        .        .        24,412  4,144,272 

Between  100  and  1  .        ,        .        .        .217,049  3,931,806 

Under  1  acre 703,289  151,148 

Waste 1,524,624 

Of  corporations  aggregate  and  sole  — 

The  Crown  holds 165,427 

Religious,  educational,  etc 947,655 

Miscellaneous 330,466 


II. 

(Page  186.) 

The  compelling  of  children  of  tender  age  to  work  in 
factories  from  fifteen  to  eighteen  hours  a  day  is  now 
remedied  by  the  "  Ten  Hours  Act." 

m. 

(Page  283.) 

If  indeed,  as  it  is  true,  the  poets  all  come  from  Cam- 
bridge, it  might  have  been  added  that  Oxford  has  fur- 
nished the  leaders  of  the  great  mental  movements  of 
England,  Roger  Bacon,  William  of  Occam,  Wycliffe, 
John  Wesley,  Jeremy  Bentham,  Adam  Smith,  E.  B. 
Pusey,  J.  H.  Newman.  The  same  might  be  said  to  a 
great  extent  of  important  political  movements.  Mr. 
Gladstone  is  a  living  example  of  this  power  of  political 
/eadership  which  seems  to  be  generated  by  the  very  air 
of  Oxford,  in  which  Canning  and  Sir  Robert  Peel  were 
also  bred. 


APPENDIX.  519 

IV. 

(Page  292.) 

The  exclusive  arrangement  spoken  of  in  regard  to 
noblemen  who  are  members  of  Christ  Church  is  now  a 
thing  of  the  past. 

V. 

(Page  295.) 

The  statement  that  the  physical  sciences  have  ob- 
tained no  real  recognition  or  respectable  foothold  in 
Oxford  might  perhaps  be  better  expressed  by  saying 
that  the  physical  sciences  have  never  become  popular  in 
Oxford  among  the  undergraduates,  though  the  Univer- 
sity has  spent  money  lavishly  upon  them.  No  less  than 
£150,000  have  been  expended  for  the  Museum  alone. 

VL 

(Page  311.) 
The  duty  on  hops  is  now  abolished. 

vn. 

(Page  332.) 

I  believe  that  the  dramatic  account  of  the  death-scene 
of  Cardinal  Beaufort  does  not  rest  on  trustworthy  histor- 
ical evidence. 

VIII. 

(Page  369.) 

An  English  friend  has  called  to  my  attention  some 
facts  relative  to  the  moral  statistics  of  English  cities 
which   would  seem   to   modify  the  apparent  aspersion 


520  APPENDIX. 

cast  upon  the  good  fame  of  Exeter.  What  was  written 
originally  was  based  upon  what  was  thought  to  be  good 
authority.  My  friend  says  that  in  Liverpool  1  in  every 
25  of  the  population  is  taken  up  annually  for  drunk- 
enness and  disorderly  conduct ;  in  Manchester  1  in  32  ; 
in  Exeter  1  in  343  ;  in  Cambridge  1  in  600 ;  in  Oxford 
1  in  750.  Thus  Exeter  comes  out  quite  fairly  in  the 
comparison.  It  is  certainly  a  city  "  beautiful  for  situa- 
tion," and  sits  loftily  like  a  queen  amid  its  fertile  fields. 
I  am  indebted  for  these  statistics  regarding  English 
cities,  and  also  for  the  tabular  list  of  ownership  of  land 
in  England,  to  the  kind  suggestions  of  Mr.  Wolseley 
Emerton,  of  Christ  Church,  Oxford.  But  notwithstand- 
ing the  truth  of  these  friendly  hints,  I  must  still  main- 
tain the  opinion  of  the  injurious  effects  of  the  English 
system  of  great  landed  estates,  as  tending  to  cramp  both 
the  advancement  of  the  agricultural  classes  and  the 
highest  improvement  of  the  land  itself. 

IX. 

(Page  449.) 

Speaking  of  King  Alfred,  when  Mr.  Freeman,  the 
historian,  was  recently  in  America,  I  ventured  to  say  to 
him  that  it  was  to  be  hoped  he  would  write  the  life  of 
Alfred  before  he  died.  It  is  to  be  desired  that  the  vig- 
orous author  of  the  "  History  of  the  Norman  Conquest," 
who  has  revived  the  art  of  historic  writing,  making  it  a 
philosophic  science  instead  of  a  catalogue  of  facts  and 
dates,  would  do  this  work  thoroughly  for  the  glory  of 
the  English  race. 


ITINERARY  OF  A  TOUR  IN  ENGLAND, 

COMPRISING  THE  PRINCIPAL  CATHEDRAL  TOWNS 


liverpool. 

Chester. 

Conway. 

Bangor. 

Mknai  Bridge. 

Beaumaris. 

Holyhead. 

Caernarvon. 

Llanberis. 

S  NO  WD  ON. 

Capel  Cerrio. 

Corwen. 

Llangollen. 

Shrewsbury. 

Wolverhampton. 

Birmingham. 

Coventry. 

Kenilworth. 

Warwick. 

Stratford  on  Avon. 

Leamington. 

Rugby. 

Olney. 

London. 

Windsor. 

Eton. 

Stoke  Pogis. 

Hampton  Court. 

Richmond. 

Kkw  Gardens. 

<  I  \  FORD. 

Woodstock. 

Blenheim. 

Cheltenham. 

Gloucester. 

Malvern. 

'■Vop.cesteb. 

Dudley. 

Lichfield. 

Vkeby. 


Matlock. 

Bakewell. 

Haddon  Hall. 

Chatsworth. 

Buxton. 

Castleton. 

Manchester. 

Kendal. 

BOWNESS. 

Ambleside. 

Rydal  Mount 

Grasmere. 

Keswick. 

Penrith. 

Carlisle. 

(Scotland.) 
Berwick  on  Tweed. 
Alnwick. 
Newcastle. 
Durham. 
Scarboro'. 
York. 

Harrowgate. 
Ripon. 

Fountains  Abbey 
Bolton  Abbey. 
Keighley. 
Haworth. 
Leeds. 
Sheffield. 
Lincoln. 
Newark. 
Nottingham. 
Newstead  Abbey. 
Petkrboko'. 
Boston. 
Ely. 

Norwich. 

Bury  St.  Edmunds. 
Cambridge. 


522 


ITINERARY. 


LONDON. 

Greenwich. 

Woolwich. 

Rochester. 

tunrridge  wells. 

Canterbury. 

Dovsb. 

Folkestone. 

Hastings. 

Brighton. 

Chichester. 

Portsmouth. 

Ryde. 

Brading. 

Sandown. 

Shankxin. 

Bonchurch. 

Ventnor. 

The  Needles. 

Newport. 

Carisbrookk  Castle. 

Cowe8. 

Southampton. 

Winchester. 

Salisbury.    , 

Old  Saeum. 

Wiltoh 


EXETEB. 

Torquay. 

Totness. 

Dartmouth. 

Plymouth. 

Truro. 

Penzance. 

Land's  End. 

BOTALLACK  MlNtl 

Exeter. 

Barnstaple. 

Bideford. 

Ilfracombe. 

Lynton. 

BnroGEWATER. 

Glastonbury. 

Wells. 

Bath. 

Bristol. 

Chepstow. 

Tintern  Abbbt. 

Monmouth. 

Raglan  Cami* 

Ross. 

Hkrefokd. 

LlVBBPOOU 


INDEX. 


/Lifted,  and  St.  Cuthbert,  449;  bis 
division  of  time,  450. 

Alnwick,  town  of,  220;  castle  of, 
220,  seq. 

America,  and  England,  141,  seq. 

Arnold,  Dr.,  his  home  at  Rugby, 
84;  as  an  educator,  88,  91;  me- 
morial window  at  Rugby  school 
chapel,  91;  monument  of,  at 
same,  91 ;  his  home  at  Fox  How, 
193, 194. 

Arreton,  355. 

Art,  in  London,  42,  seq. 

Arthur,  King,  burial-place  of,  444. 

Augustine,  Apostle  of  England, 
315. 


B. 

Bakewell  church,  174. 

Bangor,  4,  seq. 

Barnstaple,  424. 

"  Battle  Abbey,"  224,  482. 

Battlefield  church,  16. 

\$eckenham,  305. 

Becket,  Thomas  a,  313. 

Bemerton  church,  350,  351. 

Berry  Head,  379. 

Berwick-on-Tweed,  219. 

Berwyn  Hills,  14. 

Bettwys-y-Coed,  13. 

Bideford,    424;    bridge    of,    425; 

"  pebble-ridge  "  at,  425. 
Bilton  Hall,  85,  86. 
Birmingham,    entrance     to,    17; 

"Punch"  in,  19. 
Blenheim.  Ill,  112. 


Bolton  Priory,  232. 

Bonchurch,  cemetery,  340. 

Botallack  mines,  414,  415. 

Bowness,  189. 

Bradford,  Gov.,  249. 

Brading,  337,  338. 

Brewster,  Elder,  244,  seq. 

Bridgwater,  433. 

Bright,  John,  37,  38. 

Brighton,  326,  327 ;  climate  of,  32S 
329. 

Bristol,  118;  Sunday  at,  450. 

British  Museum,  41,  475. 

Britannia  Tubular  Bridge,  7,  8. 

Brixham,  378,  379. 

Broadmead  chapel  in  Bristol,  120 
121. 

Bronte,  Charlotte,  home  of,  237, 
238;  genius  of,  239. 

Bronte,  Rev.  Patrick,  sermon  by 
238. 

Brougham,  Lord,  39,  40. 

Brunei,  his  genius,  373. 

Butler,  Bishop,  tomb  of,  119. 

Bushy  Park,  77. 

Buxton,  177, 179. 

Byron,  Lord,  at  Matlock,  165; 
where  he  wrote  "  The  Corsair," 
118;  recollection  of,  258;  tomb 
of,  258;  England  slow  to  re- 
adopt  his  memory,  260 ;  statue  of 
at  Trinity  college,  Cambridge, 
269. 


Caernarvon  Castle,  8,  9. 
Cambridge  University,  its  situa- 
tion compared  with  Oxford,  266 ; 


524 


INDEX. 


Trinitv  col.,  2G6,  sea.;  St.  John's 
col.,  270,  seq.;  Trinity  Hall  col., 
273;  Caius  col.,  273;  Clare  Hall 
col.,  274;  King's  col.,  275; 
Queen's  col.,  275,  276;  St. 
Peter's  col.,  276 ;  Pembroke  col., 
277;  St.  Katharine's  col.,  278; 
Corpus  Christi  col.,  278;  Mag- 
dalene col.,  278 ;  Jesus  col.,  278, 
279;  Sidney  Sussex  col.,  S479, 
280;  Christ's  col.,  282,  seq.;  Im- 
manuel  col.,  284;  Downing  col., 
285. 

Canterbury,  312 ;  cathedral  of,  313, 
seq.;  charities  of,  316;  "catch- 
club"  of,  317,  318. 

Canute,  at  Ely,  262. 

Capel  Cerrig,  12. 

Carisbrooke  castle,  334. 

Carlyle,  Thomas,  referred  to,  474, 
489. 

Castleton,  180. 

Cathedrals,  English,  number  of, 
124 ;  lowness  of,  160. 

Chad's,  St,  walk  at  Shrewsbury, 
15. 

Chalk,  region,  319,  320. 

Chatterton,  119,  120. 

Chaucer,  house  of  at  Woodstock, 
112. 

Cheltenham,  115. 

Chepstow,  454. 

Chester,  1. 

Cinque  Ports,  224. 

Clovelly,  village  of,  426 ;  "  Hobby 
road  "  at,  426;  Court,  427. 

Coal,  in  England,  150;  probability 
of  its  exhaustion,  147,  148. 

Coleridge,  his  room  in  Jesus  col- 
lege, 279 ;  his  home  at  Keswick, 
212;  his  alleged  plagiarisms, 
213,  214;  his  tomb  at  Highgate, 
215,  216. 

ColUers,  145,  150, 151. 

"  Commercial  travelers."  345. 

Commons,  House  of,  34,  seq. 

Copper  mines,  392. 

Cornwall,  little  visited,  389 ;  scen- 
ery of,  390,391;  primitive  peo- 
ple of,  398 ;  land  of  pagan  relics 
and  legends,  409;  mines,  392, 
teq.;  miners,  394,  395;  prayers 
of  Cornwall  miners,  420. 

lorwtn  13. 


Cotton,  John,  250. 

Coventry,  23,  24. 

Cowper,  William,  his  house  at  01- 
ney,  94,  95;  memories  of,  96, 
97. 

Craik,  Rev.  Mr.,  sermon  by,  451. 

Crich,  172. 

Cricket,  playing,  78. 

Cromwell,  Oliver,  at  Cambridge 
University,  280;  portrait  of  at 
Sidney  Sussex  college,  281. 

Crosthwaite  church,  217. 

Cumming,  Dr.,  66,  67. 

Cumnor  Hall,  113. 

Cuthbert,  St.,  shrine  of  at  Dur- 
ham, 225. 

D. 

Darling,  Grace,  219. 

Dawlish,  373,  374. 

"  Decorated  style  "  of  architecture, 
158, 160. 

Dee,  river,  3, 14. 

De  Quincev,  charges  against  Cole- 
ridge, 213. 

Derby,  162. 

Derbyshire  scenery,  161, 163. 

Derwentwater,  lake,  208,  211. 

Devonshire  cattle,  362,  363. 

DTsraeli,  38,  39. 

Dorchester,  361. 

Dover,  321,  322. 

Dudley  Castle,  144. 

Dunmail  Raise,  205. 

Dunstan,  St.,  447,  448. 

Dunster  Castle,  433. 

Durham,  223;  cathedral  of,  334 
seq. 

E. 

"  Early  English,"  style  of  archi 

tecture,  133,  seq. 
Edward,   the    Black   Prince,  bit 

tomb  at  Canterbury,  314. 
"  Elegy  in  a  country  churchyard,' 

70,  71. 
Ely,  cathedral,  262,  seq. 
England,  scenery  of,  455 ;  Sunday 

in,  185,  seq.;  intemperance  in 

23,  24-  reform  in,  140, 141;  hois 


INDEX. 


525 


ground,  293;  influence  of  the 
sea  upon,  430. 

English  railways,  1,  2;  hotels,  4, 
6;  cities,  finished  character  of, 
19;  unsociability,  26;  garden, 
76;  muscle,  78;  character,  100, 
tea.;  suspicion,  105,  106 ;  hedge, 
110,  111 ;  cemeteries,  113 ;  farms, 
113 ;  piety,  cheerful  type  of,  167 ; 
preaching,  62,  63,  187;  inns, 
names  of,  318;  pronunciation, 
318;  fox-hunting,  363;  horses, 
364;  cookery,  464 ;  speech,  465 ; 
aristocracy,  484;  literature,  490. 

Established  Church,  present  posi- 
tion and  influence  of  the,  68,  69; 
worship  of  the,  69  ;  disestab- 
lishment of  the,  485. 

Esthwaite,  lake,  191. 

Exeter,  364;  High  Street  of,  365; 
cathedral  of,  366,  seq.;  services 
in  cathedral,  368 ;  bishop  of,  371 ; 
scenery  about,  372. 


Hall,  Rev.  Newman,  his  preach- 
ing, 66. 

Hall,  Robert,  121, 122. 

Hampton  Court,  72,  seq. 

Harrowgate,  229,  230. 

Haworth,  233,  seq. 

Helvellyn,  207. 

Herbert,  George,  story  of,  850 
tomb  of,  at  Bemerton,  351. 

Hieh  Church,  movement,  421, 422. 

Holman  Hunt,  his  picture  of 
"Finding  Christ  in  the  Tem- 
ple," 51. 

Hooper,  Bishop,  scene  of  his  : 
tyrdom,  129. 

HoD-growing,  310,  311. 


Ightam  Moat,  481. 

ilfracombe,  429. 

Ives,  St.,  in  Cornwall,  398. 


F. 

Fara  Islands.  219. 
Farringford,  342. 
Folkestone,  323. 
Fonthill  Abbey,  354. 
Fountains  Abbey,  231,  232. 
Fox  How,  193. 

G. 

Glastonbury,  its  original  meaning, 
441;  early  home  of  Christianitv, 
442;  "holy  thorn"  of,  443;  ab- 
bey of,  443,  444,  448;  burial- 
place  of  Arthur,  444,  seq. 

Gloucester,  128, 129 ;  cathedral  of, 
124, 126. 

Godiva,  Lady,  24. 

Grasmere,  202. 

Gray,  Thomas,  at  Cambridge, 
70. 

*  Greta  Hall,"  211,  212. 


J. 

John,  King,  his  tomb  at  Worces- 
ter, 136. 


Keighley,  233. 

Ken,  Bp.,  his  "  Morning  Hymn,** 
439. 

Kenilworth,  23. 

Kensington  Museum,  "  Caxton 
Loan  Collection,"  470;  exhibi- 
tion of  national  portraits,  472. 

Keswick,  vale  of,  208;  town  ol 
211,  212. 

Kew  Gardens,  81,  sea. 

Kingsley,  Charles,  his  home  a> 
Eversley,  308;  his  church  ai 
Eversley,  310 ;  spirit  of  his  writ- 
ings, 309;  painter  of  Nnrth 
Devon  scenery,  428. 


H. 
•  Haddon  HaJ,"  172,  seq. 


Lake  country,  189,  seq. 
Lamb    Charles,  memories  of,  at 
East  India  House,  33,  34. 


52G 


INDEX. 


Landscape  paijting,  in  England, 
46,  47. 

Landseer,  Sir  Edwin,  48. 

Land's  End,  drive  to  from  Pen- 
zance, 407,  seq.;  appearance  of 
in  a  storm,  412;  scene  from,  41 3  j 
"  vicar  of,"  416,  seq. 

Lea  Hurst,  home  of  Florence 
Nightingale,  168. 

Leamington,  20. 

Leslie,  Charles  Rohert,  qualities  as 
a  painter,  48,  49. 

Lichfield,  152;  cathedrel  of,  156, 
seq. 

Lincoln,  282;  cathedral  of,  252, 
seq. 

Lincolnshire,  its  Dutch  scenery, 
252. 

Liverpool,  1;  ride  from  to  Lon- 
don, 467. 

Llangollen,  14. 

Llugwy,  vale  of,  13. 

Lodore,  falls  of,  210,  211. 

Logan  stone,  409,  410. 

London,  overpowering  at  first 
sight,  25 ;  parks  of,  26 ;  paradise 
of  literary  men,  27 ;  view  from  a 
London  bridge,  28 ;  old  churches 
of,  29,  30;  points  of  special  in- 
terest in,  31,  seq.;  "  East  India 
House  "  in,  33,  34;  the  best  way 
to  see,  40 ;  Hanover  Square,  468 ; 
statues  in,  469. 

Longfellow,  estimation  of,  in  Eng- 
land, 131,  132. 

Lyn,  cliff  of,  430;  "  water's  meet " 
of  the  Lyn  torrents,  431. 

Lynton,430. 

M. 

Macaulay,  referred  to,  474. 

Malvern  hills,  136. 

Marazion,  401. 

Market  Drayton,  15. 

Marsh,   Miss,   home   of,   305;  her 

appearance,  306;  her  source  of 

influence,  306. 
"  Martyr's  memorial,"  293. 
Matlock  Bath,  163,  166 ;  prices  at 

Matlock  Bath  Hotels,  164. 
Maurice,  Rev.  F.  D.,  his  preaching 
ology,  64,  seq. 


Melville,  Rev.  Henry,  63,  64. 

Menai  Strait,  6,  7. 

Michael's  Mount,  St.,  399;  the 
ancient  Ictis,  402,403;  earliest 
historic  point  in  England,  403; 
view  from,  404;  allusion  to,  in 
"  Lycidas,"  405 ;  Bowles'  poem 
upon,  405. 

Milton,  John,  at  Christ's  college, 
Cambridge,  282,  seq.;  monu- 
ment of,  in  St.  Giles'  charch 
London,  29. 

Monmouth,  459. 

Mount's  Bay,  400. 

Miiller,  George,  sketch  of,  at  Bris- 
tol, 122,  1<>3;  sermon  by,  453. 


Names,  in  hill  countries,  192. 

Newark,  255. 

Newcastle-upon-Tyne,  223. 

Newman,  Dr.,  his  convent  at  Bir* 
mingham,  17,  tea. ;  referred  to, 
489. 

Newstead  Abbey,  260. 

Newton,    John,    his     church    at 
Olney,  96. 

Noblemen's  estates,  138,  483. 

Norman  architecture,  126,  seq. 

North  Devon,  scenery  of,  432. 

Northwick,  Lord,  his  picture-gal- 
lery at  Cheltenham,  115,  seq. 


o. 

Olney,  93,  seq. 

"  Old  Sarum,"  356,  357. 

Ouse,  river,  94,  95. 

Oxford,  285 ;  "  Commemoration 
Day "  at,  285,  seq.;  buildings 
of,  289:  New  col.,  290;  Exeter 
col.,  290;  Brasenose  col.,  290, 
291;  Oriel  col.,  291;  Queen'i 
col.,  292;  Christ  Church  col 
292;  education  at,  294,  295;  is 
vacation  time,  477. 


P. 

Paley,  Dr.,  birthplace  of,  26L 


INDEX. 


527 


Pendeen,  415. 

Penmaen-bach,  4. 

Penmaen-mawr,  4. 

Penshurst  Castle,  480. 

1'enzance,  climate  of,  399  ;  serpen* 
tine  stone  works  at,  400;  prim- 
itive character  of,  401. 

"  Perpendicular  style,"  of  archi- 
tecture, 275. 

Peterboro',  cathedral  of,  261. 

"Peveril  of  the  Peak,"  179;  castle 
of,  181. 

Pilchard-fishery,  397. 
'Pilgrim    Fathers,"    who    they 
were,  247. 

Pitt,  William,  statue  of,  469. 

Plymouth,  its  harbor,  382;  Royal 
Hotel  at,  388. 

Portsmouth,  332,  333. 

Primogeniture,  English  law  of, 
139,  140. 

'*  Punch,"  in  Birmingham,  19. 

Puritanism,  250. 


R. 

Raglan  Castle,  460. 

Raikes,  Robert,  129. 

Railway  literature,  132,  seq. 

Redruth,  391. 

Ripon,  230. 

Richard  III.,  128. 

Richmond  Hill,  81. 

Richmond,  Leigh,  at  Isle  of  Wight, 

338. 
Robertson,  Rev.  F.  W.,  at  Brigh- 
ton, 329,  330;  memorial  window 

of  at  Oxford,  291. 
Robinson,  John,  246, 24"  ,  his  words 

at   Delft  Haven,  248;  writings 

of,  249. 
Rome,  ancient,  rule  of  in  Britain, 

321. 
Romsev,  344. 
Ross,  4"61,  462. 
Rugby,  town  of,  84;  school  of,  87, 

90. 
Russel,  Lord  John,  37. 
Rydal  Mount,  194. 
Rydal  Water,  201. 


S. 

Salisbury,  346 ;  cathedral  of,  347, 
seq. 

Saltash,  385. 

"  Sanford  and  Merton,"  author  of 
154. 

Scott,  Dr.  Thomas,  his  houae,  9?, 
100. 

Scrooby,  241;  manor-house  ofj 
242;  church  of,  model  of  N.  E. 
churches,  246. 

Severn,  river,  15,  16. 

Shakspeare,  scene  in  his  church, 
20,  21;  authorship  of  his  plays 
22;  Chandos  portrait  of,  471. 

"  Shakspeate's  Cliff,"  322. 

Sherwood  Forest,  257. 

Shrewsbury,  15. 

Singing,  in  English  churches, 
69. 

Skiddaw,  Mt.  208,  211,  212. 

Snowdon,  Mt.  10,  11. 

Somersetshire,  land  of  legends, 
448. 

Southampton,  333. 

Southey,  Robert,  his  home,  212; 
his  grave,  218. 

Spssrgeon,  Rev.  Charles,  his  char- 
acteristics as  a  preacher,  60. 

Staffordshire,  coal-region  of,  17. 

Stanley,  Dean,  remark  of  in  re- 
lation to  Westminster  Abbey, 
474;  referred  to,  487. 

Stillingfleet,  burial-place  of,  136. 

Stoke  l'ogis,  70,  seq. 

Stnnehenge,  357,  seq. 

Stowell,  canon  Hugh,  187. 

"  Strawberry  Hill,"  79. 

Sunday-school,  festivities,  lto 
167. 

Swallow,  cataract  of  the,  13. 


Teignmouth,  375. 

Tennyson,  his  home  at  Farrmg' 

ford,  342. 
Thames,  fountain  -  head    <f  tha 

118. 


528 


INDEX. 


Thirlemere,  lake  of,  206. 

Tin-mines,  396. 

Tintern  Abbey,  457,  seq. 

Torbay,  378. 

Torquay,  375,  seq. 

Trent,   valley  and  river  of  the, 

255. 
Troutbeck  vale,  192. 
Tunbridge    Wells,    325 ;    drives 

•about,  479. 
Turner,  J.  M.  W.,  as  a  painter,  43, 

seq.;  first  mountain  drawing  of 

233 ;  at  Mt  Edgcumbe,  385. 
Twickenham,  80. 
Tyndale,  William,  canon  of  Christ 

Church  college,  Oxford,  293. 

u. 

University,  the  English,  vital 
principle  of,  296 ;  scholarship  at, 
297  5  moral  tone  of,  298 ;  genial 
■pint  of,  298,  299;  government 
of,  300,301;  Fellowships  in,  302, 


Vane,  Sir  Henry,  281. 
Venerable  Bede,  225. 


w. 

Warkworth  Hermitage,  222. 

"  Water-  colors,"  painting  in,  a 
peculiarly  English  art,  49,  50. 

Watling  street,  311,  319. 

u  Wealden  Beds,"  325. 

Wells,  situation  of,  434;  tranquil 
air  of,  434;  bishops  of,  435;  ca- 
thedral of,  436,  seq. 

Welsh,  mountain  scenery,  10,  seq. 

West,  Benjamin,  48. 

Abbevs,  English,  characterization 

of,  *508. 
Alfred,  Kins,  500. 
Arthur,  King,  last  battle  with  the 

Saxons,  499. 
Beda,  493. 


Westminster  Abbey ,  473,  $eq. 

Weston  Underwood,  96,  97. 

Wharfe,  river,  232. 

White,  Henrv  Kirke,  256,  257. 

Wichnor  Park,  153. 

Wight,  Isle  of,  334,  seq.;  Caris- 
brook  castle,  334;  Arreton 
church,  336;  home  of  "  Dairy- 
man's Daughter,"  336;  San- 
down,  336;  Brading,  337,  338; 
Undercliff,  339 ;  Bonchurch, 
840;  Ventnor,  339;  St.  Law- 
rence church,  341;  Farringford, 
342. 

William,  the  Conqueror,  his  wast- 
ing of  the  land  in  Yorkshire,  228 ; 
his  remorse,  228. 

Winchester,  331;  cathedral  of, 
331. 

Windermere,  lake  of,  189, 190. 

Wingfield  Manor,  171. 

Wilton,  355,  church  of,  354. 

Wilton  House,  352,  seq. 

Wolsey,  Cardinal,  at  Hampton 
court,  73 ;  at  Scrooby,  242. 

Worcester,  cathedral  of,  132, 133, 
136. 

Wordsworth,  William,  his  appear- 
ance, 195;  his  indignation  at 
American  repudiation,  195:  his 
sister,  195;  his  egotism,  196;  the 
priest  of  Nature,  196 ;  a  Christian 
man,  197;  his  philosophy  of  Na- 
ture, 198;  his  love  of  humanity 
199,  200;  a  poet  of  progress, 
201 ;  his  grave,  204. 

Wye,  river  in  Derbyshire,  172; 
river  in  Monmouthshire,  scenery 
of  the,  455. 

Wyndcliff,  view  from  the,  456. 

Y. 

Yeovil,  361. 

York,  228,  229;  cathedral  of,  239. 

Beverlej-,  501,  seq. 

Boston,  in  Lincolnshire,  502. 

Burne-Jones,  513. 

Carlyle,    Thomas,    his    house    on 

Cheyne-Row,  511. 
Croyland  Abbey,  492,  seq. 


INDEX. 


529 


English  Modern  Art,  512. 
Fen-lands,  491. 
Fountains  Abbe}',  508. 
Furness  Abbey,  504,  seq. 
Green,  John  Richard,  quoted,  497. 
Guthlac,  St.,  494. 
Hereward,  492,  seq. 
Herkomer,  Hubert,  513. 
Ingulph.    Abbot,    his    chronicle, 
492,  seq. 


John,  King,  498. 
Magna  Charta,  509. 
Monasteries  in  England,  493. 
Peterborough,  492. 
Pope,    Alexander,    his   two -hun- 
dredth birthday,  510. 
Richard,  King,  505. 
Runnimede,  the  field  of,  509,  seq, 
Twickenham,  510. 


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